


The Promise of Sunflowers

by PurplePatchwork



Series: Sunflowers [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Eventual Sex, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 123,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/PurplePatchwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia wants to become friends with America, but he gets a lot more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first step to friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the uncensored version of The Promise of Sunflowers! I am re-uploading the story here, since explicit sexual scenes are not allowed on fanfiction.net. If you want to read the 'nicer' version, you can check it out there.  
> The main pairing in this story is America x Russia, but there are some side-stories.  
> Now, without further ado, let's begin!

Russia had a problem.

As of late, he had started feeling very lonely. Of course, he was used to being all by himself, and often he enjoyed the solitude. But lately, he found himself yearning for a companion, for someone who didn't either shot him angry glances or tried to hide from him. For someone other than his sisters, one of whom wanted to marry him and the other bursting into tears whenever she saw him. He felt an unknown pain every time he saw France and England have 'friendly discussions' with each other, when he saw Sweden being protective of his so-called wife, and every time the Baltics cowered in fear and tried to hide from him, he couldn't help but feel frustrated. All he wanted was a big family, some nice friends to spend his time with. Why couldn't they understand that?

So it happened that Russia decided it was time to change all that. It was time for him to make a real friend. Someone he could laugh with and enjoy spending his time with, someone who wasn't afraid of him. Russia had never been an expert at relationships, but he was willing to give it another try, if only to ease that throbbing pain of his heart.

It didn't take him long to decide who would be his new best friend.

* * *

 Alfred F. Jones, better known as the personification of the United States of America, was utterly bored. Germany always knew exactly how to make these World Conferences as dull as possible. And now that it was being held in Berlin, he had taken the task upon him to be even more boring than normal.

America leant back in his chair, his bright blue eyes holding a staring contest with the ceiling. The sunlight shone on his dirty blond hair, making his cowlick stand out more. He absentmindedly bit on his pen, which he had been using for drawing doodles in his little notebook, and adjusted his glasses.

"America, pay attention!" Germany suddenly yelled, slamming his hands down on his table.

America jumped at the noise and immediately tumbled backwards, arms flailing wildly. With a hard thud he hit the floor, chair and all. He could hear some nations laugh and others groan at his stupidity. The young nation rubbed the back of his head and slowly got up.

"Sorry, sorry!" he laughed, while dusting off his jacket.

"Take your seat so I can continue my presentation!" Germany ordered him, frowning angrily.

America quickly sat down and looked up with puppy eyes and arms crossed, as if he were a model student. Germany huffed and returned to his PowerPoint.

The American grinned at the scowling Englishman who was seated at the other end of the table. England face-palmed and sighed, making America's grin wider.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep and be scolded at once again.

The blond never noticed the intense staring that came from somewhere to his right. Violet eyes took in every move he made. Those around him were very uncomfortable with his staring, but wisely kept quiet. Nothing good ever came from Russia taking a special interest in someone.

* * *

 It was lunch break. America stretched his stiff muscles and lazily got up, out of his seat. The noises his stomach made could only mean one thing: time for a visit to good ol' Mickey D's!

As he was about to leave, England showed up next to him.

"Do you always have to be that obnoxious during these meetings?" his former guardian asked him, bushy eyebrows knit together in their usual frown. His cat-like green eyes observed him in a disapproving manner.

"Come on dude, I just make these things more interesting!" the younger nation boasted, patting England lightly on the shoulder (causing the other to cringe in pain).

"Alfred, that's not how I raised you!" England sighed.

"Please, not that again!" America groaned. He wasn't a child anymore, and the Brit should recognize this by know. "Know what, why don't you and I go drinking tonight, for old time's sake?"

England hesitated, but finally broke out in a faint smile. He could never say no to those pleading eyes. "Very well then."

"All right! I'll ask some of the other dudes as well!"

England's mood instantly dropped, but America didn't seem to notice, oblivious to his surroundings as always.

"Oh, and while we're at it, I have this new movie. Care to come and watch it?" the American asked, excited like a little kid.

"Is it a horror movie?" England wanted to know, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah dude, it'll be totally awesome!"

The older nation sighed. "Fine. I will come over next Saturday, so keep that day free."

"Sweet! You're the best!" America happily exclaimed, fist-palming the air.

"As long as you won't wet the bed," the Brit teased.

"Iggy, how dare you!" America hissed, face heating up rapidly. "That was ages ago!" He quickly glanced around, but luckily no one seemed to have noticed their discussion.

England smiled at the other's embarrassment, and quickly reassured him that it was nothing to be ashamed of. He changed the topic, which immediately made America forget about his shameful memories. The two exited the building, America chatting on about anything and everything. They didn't notice the shadow that quietly followed them, gladly taking in the contents of their conversation.

* * *

 Russia silently watched his prey from the shadows of the bar they had gone to. America had succeeded in bringing the infamous Bad Touch Trio, who were now singing karaoke, and Germany and Northern Italy, who were chatting at one of the tables. The American was busy trying to keep a very drunk England from taking off all of his clothes.

Russia observed their behaviour, waiting for an opportunity. There were several reasons for picking America as his soon-to-be friend. Not only were they both superpowers, they also had a history of interaction together (although it had more often than not been a not so friendly kind of interaction). On top of that, America had this… skill, for being the centre of attention. People were drawn to him, whether they liked it or not, and even if all they did was complain about his words and actions. He was always lively and full of energy, boredom nearly non-existent in his dictionary.

Yes, America would definitely help him get rid of the loneliness if he asked him to.

Not that he felt the need of actually asking him.

Russia raised his head when he saw France approaching his objective. He walked up to the two at the bar, and after a couple of words pulled England away with him. America tried to stop the Frenchman at first, but he shrugged it off and let them leave. He was too far gone himself to really care about the possible dangers of handing over a drunk England to France.

Russia did not let this chance slip.

America tried to read the menu, which was written in German. It didn't exactly help that the booze had affected his eyesight. If only those stupid letters would stay in the same place, his drunken mind thought, picking something new to drink would be a great deal easier.

"Privet Amerika," a voice to his right suddenly said.

The American looked up and saw Russia seated next to him, his usual childish smile plastered on his face.

"What're you doin' 'ere?" he slurred.

Russia raised an eyebrow. "The same as you, I would say. I am simply enjoying a drink after a hard day's work."

America had no answer to his perfectly logical reasoning. He frowned and returned his attention to the card in his hands, attempting once more to decipher it. Normally he would have questioned the presence of the Russian a bit more thoroughly, but now it didn't bother him in the slightest. America didn't care much about a lot of alone-time, and now that England was gone, Russia would have to do.

When the bartender showed up, the tall nation ordered two glasses of vodka. America looked at him in confusion.

"Whaddaya need two for, you alcoholic?"

"It is my treat to you," Russia simply said, smile a little less sincere at being called an alcoholic. As if he would get drunk from just two shots of vodka.

The bartender put down the two glasses, and Russia thanked him. He gently placed one glass in front of his companion. The Internet said gifts were very important for establishing a friendship. He only hoped the vodka wouldn't kill the already intoxicated American.

"To free booze!" America loudly toasted, clumsily downing the drink.

 _'And to our new friendship_ ,' Russia added in his mind.

* * *

 Russia had a nearly unconscious nation on his back. Before deciding he wanted to be friends, he would have just left the younger at the bar to deal with his own problems on how to drag his drunk ass home when he couldn't even stand properly. Now, he almost enjoyed America's drunken spouting. Almost.

"And then he ssaid 'screw you guys, I'm goin' home'!" America giggled.

Russia sighed. Not only did his words make even less sense than when he was sober, the sunny blond was constantly shouting in his ear. Russia just didn't really know how to deal with drunk nations, especially not someone who got this annoying after only a couple of glasses. He still preferred it over England's whining though, which was a well-known fact with all the nations.

"Amerika, could you please quiet down for a moment?" the Russian pleaded.

America simply giggled some more. "Why, big guy? Oh oh, here'sss ma room!" he suddenly yelled.

Russia happily halted in front of the door to the hotel room America was pointing at. The smaller nation succeeded in pulling his key from his pocket and dropped the object in Russia's hand for the other to open the door. After the door swung open, Russia made for the bed and carefully laid down his package.

America yawned widely before flopping down. The Russian decided he had to help the man get undressed, and pulled off his shoes.

"Hey, easy one the mercha… merchenda… You know whatta mean!" America huffed, crossing his arms. It lost effect when he laughed semi-hysterically.

Even though Russia wanted to be friends with him, he found a sober America to be a lot less aggravating, and that was saying a lot. He might have been able to join the fun if he were drunk himself, but for the Russian, getting drunk was not easy to achieve.

Once he had somehow managed to take off America's jacket and jeans, letting him keep his underwear and shirt, he started for the door.

"Hey! Where d'ya think you're goin'?" the other asked.

The Russian turned around, both eyebrows raised. America patted the mattress next to him.

"You can stay if ya wanna," he said with a big goofy smile.

Russia thought it over for a bit. Even though America was acting like this, having a companion for the night definitely sounded better than returning to his room, where he would probably, no definitely, be cold and lonely. Russia smiled a more genuine smile.

"Da, I will take you up on that offer."

He took off his coat and boots, politely keeping on the rest of his clothes, and laid down next to the American.

"G'night," the other yawned, situating himself comfortably under the covers.

"Good night, Amerika," Russia whispered softly.

He sighed happily. This was almost like that sleepover-thing he had read about, right? He'd only just today started his plans of befriending America, and already things were going this smoothly!

Russia contently closed his eyes. No having to be all by himself tonight.

* * *

 It was very warm. That was the first thing the American noticed as he began to rise from his slumber. He lazily tried to stretch his muscles, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head that was the result of a night of heavy drinking. He stiffened when he noticed something. Something very odd.

His arm was draped over an unidentified object. No, not an object. It felt like a body.

America frowned lazily as his hand trailed across the surface of this body, finding muscles and then soft fabric. It was long and almost silky, like a scarf.

America's eyes shot open the moment he realized he had his body wrapped around another human being. But when he saw who exactly the other was, he let out a (totally manly) scream.

Russia sat up in confusion as the yelling continued.

"Why are you in my bed, you commie bastard?!" America shrieked.

Russia groaned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Even though sharing a bed had been extremely comfortable, this was not a preferred way of waking up. Russia slowly opened his violet eyes and looked at the American, who was cowering angrily in the corner of his bed.

"I was sleeping," the tall nation explained, letting out a yawn.

"Don't be a smartass! I mean, why are you sleeping in _my_ bed?!"

Russia raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me you forgot about last night?"

America immediately grew red at the implication of those words. Russia chuckled. As endearing as this reaction was, the Russian decided to further enlighten him.

"You were drunk and I brought you to your hotel room. When I wanted to leave, you invited me to stay," Russia slowly explained.

"And you stayed?" America asked, a shocked expression on his face.

Russia shrugged. "Da, you asked me to."

America went silent for a moment.

"…You're a weirdo, you know that? Listening to someone who's smashed."

The ashen blond giggled. "I must say you look very cute when you sleep."

America flushed again and scowled at the other. "I do not! And now that it's morning, you can get out! I'm not drunk anymore, so I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

Russia sighed and got out of bed. America waited for him to finish dressing up and get out of the room, too embarrassed to leave the safety of his blankets. His headache had gotten a lot worse. When Russia was fully dressed, he turned to smile at the younger nation.

"See you at the meeting, da? Last night was fun."

"…Sure."

After Russia had shut the door behind him, America buried his face in his hands and groaned. What the hell did he drink for this to happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Privet: Hello


	2. Dinner and other shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America is suspicious when Russia asks him to have dinner together.

America stood in front of the meeting room, getting ready for his presentation. There were only two minor things bothering him. First, there was this headache of major proportions. America really couldn't have chosen a better night to get wasted. Secondly, there was the incessant staring he received from a certain Russian. Normally he wouldn't mind the attention, but considering the events of that morning he wasn't all that pleased with the gesture. In fact, he felt rather embarrassed.

America cleared his throat and looked at his fellow nations, deliberately skipping Russia.

"Well then, about the problem of world hunger. I say we use our science to develop trees that can grow hamburgers, and plant them all around the world. I would be the hero in saving everybody from starvation of course, but I'm gonna need your support to realize this project." The sunny blond leant back in his chair as the nations burst out in argument.

Japan had started saying he agreed with him, before being cut off by an angry Switzerland, telling the nation he should state his own opinion (surprise, surprise).

"We can't make hamburger trees, you git!" England said, giving him a thumbs-down. However, his words sounded less harsh than usual, because of his own hangover.

France simply laughed his perverted laugh, causing England to scowl at him. Normally he would have lunged at him, but he was held back by the pain on the inside of his skull.

Northern Italy decided a pasta tree would be even better, which caused Romano to curse at his fratello for his stupidity. That in turn caused Spain to join in saying tomato trees would be good as well, making Romano remind him in a not so friendly way that there already were tomato plants.

Greece was fast asleep, as usual.

While everyone went at it, America rubbed his eyes, happy with the distraction he had created. If only they'd be a little less loud. His eye caught Russia, who was happily smiling away at the discussions that were taking place around him. He suddenly looked up, meeting America's gaze. The American immediately looked away, the awkwardness still fresh in his memories.

What _had_ Russia been thinking, sharing a bed with him when being as drunk as he must have been? He hadn't the slightest idea. Not only that, they weren't exactly friends. Sure, they weren't enemies anymore, but outside of meetings they didn't really talk all that much.

His thoughts were interrupted by Germany, who slammed his hands down on the table and told the others to be quiet. America sighed and rose from his seat. Time for part two of his presentation.

* * *

The meeting was officially over. Tomorrow, everyone would leave for their respective countries, and most of them wouldn't meet again until the next World Conference. America yawned lazily. No going out tonight, he just wanted to head straight to his room, call room-service, maybe watch some television, and then off to bed.

On the other side of the room, Russia was preparing to leave as well. He had a difficult time deciding what to do this evening. His Baltics had left the room as soon as the meeting had ended, so he couldn't ask them to accompany him for a drink. Belarus wasn't here, and even if she were, he shivered at the thought of spending his free time with her. She was a nice girl, but the idea of getting married to her was just… wrong.

Russia sighed and scanned the remaining nations. He did not get along with Poland, so he got erased from his mental list immediately. Most of the other countries were chatting with each other, and Russia didn't feel like imposing. Whenever he tried to make small-talk with the others, he always felt unwanted. Russia hated feeling that way.

From the corner of his eye, the tall nation noticed that America was still packing his things, and there was no one around him. His face brightened. America was his new friend after all, so that meant he wouldn't mind spending the evening together, right? Russia quietly made his way over to the other side of the room.

America did not notice the shadow that snuck up on him. It was only when he felt a heavy hand drop down on his shoulder that he jumped and rapidly spun around. Russia was smiling innocently at him, causing America to shudder.

"Hey, dude! What'd you want?" He tried to smile, because a hero wasn't afraid of rather imposing nations who sometimes acted like psychopaths and slept in his bed just because he asked them to.

"Amerika, would you care to have dinner with me?"

The American blinked, not able to comprehend the question.

"…Come again?"

"Dinner. You know what that is, da?" he repeated, frowning slightly.

"…Sure?" America asked. Russia's smile immediately widened, and he straightened his back, waiting for the other to finish packing his things.

America slowly ran over the possibilities for this offer. Either Russia wanted him to pay for having to drag his drunken ass back to the hotel, or he had chosen a new victim to torture. There was always that third possibility though…

The blue-eyed nation looked up, suddenly suspicious.

"…This is not to discuss any political business, right? No becoming-one-with-me kinda stuff?"

Russia chuckled. "Da, it is just personal!"

America nodded, not certain if he should feel relieved or even more concerned. If it wasn't for any political stuff, Russia had to be mad at him for last night. True, it was his own fault for listening to a wasted nation, but America never completely understood Russia's thoughts and motives.

He sighed. Well, for now he would just go with the Russian and see where they'd end up. _'No blessed alone time tonight,'_ he thought bitterly.

* * *

America quietly followed Russia to his restaurant of choice. It appeared to be a small Italian bistro.

"I didn't know you liked Italian food," America said, raising an eyebrow at his companion.

Russia shrugged. "It is all right. You are fine with this place?"

America nodded, as Russia held the door open for him. He reluctantly went inside. Holding doors open was his thing, _he_ was supposed to be the hero after all. A friendly waitress guided the two to a table in the back of the establishment. She smiled at America, but when she saw the look on Russia's face, she quickly apologized herself and scurried away.

America looked at his menu, uncomfortable with the stretching silence. He gazed over the top of his card. Russia was occupied with his own menu. He had refused to take off his scarf, even though it was quite warm inside of the restaurant. Now that America thought about it, he'd never seen the Slavic nation without his scarf before. Did he ever take the thing off? Well he had to, of course. No one would take a bath or shower with a scarf. …Would they?

Russia had decided, and laid down his menu as the waitress carefully approached the table. "Can I take your orders?" she asked, afraid to look Russia in the eyes. When she accidently did though, she couldn't look away. One does not see violet eyes on a daily basis.

Russia coughed, making the woman jump. She suddenly remembered who she was staring at, and looked terrified. America sighed. The Russian really had to stop being so intimidating. He reminded himself that he hadn't picked something to eat yet, and quickly scanned the options while Russia placed his order.

"The Rib Eye Steak with Gremolata," he said, picking up on one of the only familiar words he could detect.

He smiled at the waitress, who blinked sheepishly, captivated by his looks. After another glance at Russia, she worked twice as fast to bring them their drinks and some bread with garlic butter, before hiding in the kitchen. The combination of a hottie and a possible axe-murderer had her feeling quite confused.

America noticed how hungry he was, and took a slice of bread. Russia kept staring at him, childish smile in its usual place. The sunny blond grew nervous under the attention.

"…So, why have dinner with me?" he asked when the silence grew unbearable.

Russia was surprised by the question, but never showed it on the outside. He didn't want to tell the real reasons. That would make him look pathetic. And if there was one thing Russia didn't want himself to be considered as, it was pathetic. So, he jumped to an explanation that sounded fairly logical.

"I spent time with you last night, now it is your turn to return the favour."

America nodded. He knew it! It was a fair reason. At least it didn't involve any pain. America really hoped it didn't.

"What are you thinking about?" Russia asked.

America didn't really want to give him ideas by mentioning pain and torture, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I was thinking about dinosaurs."

Russia cocked an eyebrow, and curiously tilted his head. "Please enlighten me. You are fond of dinosaurs?"

America immediately picked up on the possibility to conversation.

"Hell yeah, dinosaurs are awesome! They're like, these gigantic monsters that lived billions of years ago, you know? I wonder what would happen if they'd exist today. Not like Godzilla, but you know, maybe they could be our pets like in the Flintstones?"

Russia patiently listened to America's excited ramblings. He nodded and made sounds of appreciation at exactly the right moment, encouraging the younger nation to continue.

"And this one time I went to an archaeology site, and they had found this skeleton of a tyrannosaur rex!" America said, eyes shining at the memory.

"You like archaeology?" Russia asked, interested.

"Hell yeah dude, discovering things is really cool! When you find nothing it can be kinda dull, but when you do! I feel like Indiana Jones whenever we actually uncover some ancient artefact or find bones from animals and creatures that are extinct! You know the feeling?"

Russia had to admit he didn't. America kept talking on and on, only briefly interrupted by the arrival of their food, before continuing as if he'd never stopped. He got so excited talking about one of his hobbies with a listener that didn't look bored or annoyed, that he completely forgot the other was Russia.

He finished his story when they were nearly done with their food, suddenly very aware that he'd done pretty much all of the talking.

"Sorry dude, you must be pretty fed up with me by now," he apologized shyly.

Russia simply shook his head and kept smiling. "Not at all, Amerika. I find it very endearing to see you this excited about something that is not food."

America huffed. "I so can get excited about stuff other than food! And I'm not endearing at all!"

Russia simply chuckled as America finished his food.

_'Stupid commie bastard._ ' Which suddenly reminded him of the reason they were here.

"…Hey, sorry again about last night. You really didn't have to listen to me, you know."

Russia waved his apologies away. "Do not apologize. We are even now, da?"

America nodded and took a sip of his soda. No alcohol tonight. Now that he was finished, he noticed Russia staring at him again. He tried to act as if he hadn't noticed, but quickly grew agitated.

"…So, got any hobbies you want to share?" he reluctantly asked.

The older nation lit up, and thought about it for a few moments.

"I like to knit."

America couldn't completely hide a snort. Russia's expression immediately darkened.

"You think knitting is funny?" he asked, voice noticeably lower than a moment before.

"No, not at all!" America quickly spat out. "You just didn't seem like the knitting type to me, that's all." A memory of Russia knitting during a meeting did pop up while he said this, making it harder not to laugh.

Russia slowly leant over the table, grabbing America's collar.

"If you keep laughing, I will have to resort to less desirable actions, da?"

"I'm not laughing!" America yelped. Even though he himself was a force to be reckoned with, an angry Russia was not something he wanted to see this night. "I'm sorry, knitting is very manly! In fact, I'd like to try it sometimes!"

Russia's mood shifted in the blink of an eye.

"Really, you would? I would be happy to teach you!"

Great. Now he'd have to go knitting with Russia sometime in the future. Because something told him the older nation wouldn't easily forget the offer.

After that, Russia paid for dinner and they went back to the hotel. America went to his room, tagged by the Russian. When he reached his door, he turned around.

"Well, thank you for dinner. And again, sorry for… for last night."

Russia nodded. "I told you, it was my pleasure."

He hesitated a bit longer while America unlocked the door to his room. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering why Russia didn't leave.

"Goodnight?" he said, sentence ending in a question mark. He would really love to go to sleep now.

Russia looked like he wanted to say something, but then nodded and left for his own room. America wondered what that had been, but shrugged it off as his eyes fell upon his bed. Now, it was time for some well-deserved rest.

* * *

Russia sat on the edge of his mattress. Even though it was the exact same building, his room felt considerably colder than America's. He had truly enjoyed the evening, but now he was alone once again. He sighed. For a moment he had wanted to ask the younger nation to stay with him again this night, but he'd hesitated. Without the cover of alcohol, it felt like America didn't really want him there. He never said it, and Russia couldn't imagine his reaction if he had in fact asked the question. But something in the way his muscles tensed nervously told the Russian that he'd rather be left alone. Russia didn't want to impose.

Of course, Russia understood he couldn't take up all of America's free time. Even back when his house was full of people, he had spent the night by himself. It was just that the newly-found source of attention had him craving for more.

Oh well. He had already spent some time alone with America twice now, so that would have to do for the time being.

That night he dreamt of the time when the Baltics lived with him, when his house wasn't as empty as it was now. And when he woke up, his resolve to change that was even stronger than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Fratello: Brother


	3. Let's watch the film, da?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After both nations spend some time with their respective siblings, Russia decides it is time to make his next move through some horror movie screening.

America opened the door to his house in New York and sighed happily. Home Sweet Home! He flickered on the lights and made for his bedroom, where he dropped off his bags. He was so ready for some peace and quiet, at least for a little while. He internally groaned as he glanced into his office and saw the huge pile of paperwork. That would have to wait.

America grabbed a can of coke from the fridge and threw himself on his couch. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television. After speeding through about 900 channels, he decided there wasn't anything interesting on. Bored already, he thought about what to do.

His eye caught a photograph of himself with a guy that looked strangely familiar. America peered at it, trying to make out who this person was supposed to be. He looked a lot like him, so America figured he had to know the guy. When his mind didn't seem to come up with any suggestions, he shrugged and lay back down.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, an idea popped up in his mind. Time to pay his brother a visit! They hadn't seen each other for ages, America was already starting to forget what the other looked like. America pulled out his cellphone and dialled the number labelled ‘Bro’. It went over three times, before someone took the call.

"Canada speaking. If you are looking for America, his number is-"

"Who are you?" America asked, confused.

He could hear a sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm your brother, Matthew."

"Hey Mattie!" the American yelled. "Of course I know who your are, I was just kidding!" He really hadn't been kidding, it wasn't until Canada had told him his name that America recognized his voice. "So, how've you been? I haven't seen you in like, forever dude!"

"I was with you at the meeting…" Canada tried not to sound too upset; he should be used to being ignored like this by now. Canada had this strange 'ability' to be invisible most of the time.

"Really? Dude, we totally missed each other if that's the case! Anyways, I wanted to ask you if you had time to hang out?"

"Sure," Canada said, deciding not to whine. "When?"

"I could be at your place this evening if I pack and leave now."

"All right, I will make the guests room then, eh?" Canada replied, the smile audible in his voice.

"See you then!" America shouted excitedly before ending the conversation.

He quickly picked up a small bag and stuffed it with clothes, videogames and snacks. The promise of being able to spend some quality time with his brother immediately lifted his spirits. Bye bye stupid paperwork, hello delicious pancakes and fun times!

* * *

Canada opened the door a few seconds after America rang the doorbell. He blinked at the man who stood in front of him, before recognizing him as his brother. You'd think a guy with a weird curl on the top of his head and a polar bear as a pet would be harder to overlook, but no.

"Hey Mattie! I hope you feel like playing some video games, because if you don't I've brought them for nothing!"

Canada squirmed as he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, but smiled. "Hey Al, I'm happy you felt like dropping by. And sure, video games sound nice." At least then he couldn't get hit by baseballs in places where it really hurt.

As America entered, he took in the smell that was coming from the kitchen. "Dude, are you making pancakes?"

"I thought you would be hungry," Canada simply said.

"You know me too well!"

America devoured ten pancakes before slowing down.

"You really do make the best pancakes! Are there more?"

Canada laughed and shook his head. "I can make some more batter, but then you'll have to wait a bit."

"Nah, I think I'm done," America said, patting his full belly. "Now tell me, how are you these days?"

Canada shrugged. "Can't complain. I'm having Francis over for dinner tomorrow."

America shuddered at the mention of the name. The dude had some weird ideas about food. He ate snails for Heaven's sake!

"It's not that bad, Alfred."

America looked startled. Wait, could his brother read minds?

"No, but you're saying those things out loud."

Oh. That hadn't really been his intention. Oh well.

"But tell me, why are you really here?" Canada suddenly asked. America most of the time only showed up when he had problems or was running away from his responsibilities.

"I just wanted to spend some time with my bro! So, you're up for a night of fun?" Canada had guessed right, but there was no way America was going to tell him that.

"As long as you don't break my controllers when you lose," Canada said.

"You're so on!" America was grinning like an overgrown child.

* * *

At the other end of the world and a few hours earlier, Russia also arrived home. He opened the door to his house and quickly shut it behind him, keeping the snow outside. The flight to Moscow hadn't been that long, but he still felt rather tired. He slowly made his way to his room, thinking a sip of vodka and some pirozkhi would really do him good right now. When he opened the door to his bedroom however, he froze.

"Big brother, what took you so long!"

Belarus walked over to her brother, hugging him tightly.

"N-Natalia? W-what are you doing here?" he stammered nervously.

"I came to see you of course! Is there something wrong with that?" the girl asked, blue eyes shining dangerously.

"O-of course not!" Russia hoped his laughter didn't sound forced.

"Now that the meeting is done, we can finally spend time together! That is only normal since we are getting married, right?"

Russia had started to slowly back away from his little sister. This did not go unnoticed by said girl.

"What are you doing big brother? You are not thinking of leaving me again, are you?" she asked, frowning furiously.

"Not at all!" Russia shouted quickly, too quick. He tried to tone it down with a bit of laughter, but it sounded more hysterical than reassuring.

"You _are_ thinking of leaving me!" Belarus yelled, after which she leapt forward. Russia was already sprinting down the stairs, running for his life.

"Go home Belarus!" he shrieked, tears streaming down his eyes.

"Why won't you marry me big brother! Don't you love me?" shouted his pursuer.

Russia ran into his basement and closed the door behind him, after which he kept running. Doors weren't much of a delay to his little sister. Russia found a good place to hide, and decided to stay there until his sibling would give up on her search and leave. He tried to stop trembling and leant against the stone wall behind him, panting heavily.

Russia really did love his sister, but when she got like this, he just didn't know how to handle her. Why couldn't she understand that he was not interested in marrying her? Russia sighed and hid his face in his hands. Why couldn't she just be as sweet as she was when they were kids? Well, she already had some weird kinks back then, but at least she didn't want to marry him yet. If only…

It wasn't until late in the night that he finally heard the front door shut close. Russia cautiously got up from his hiding place, limbs stiff, and quietly climbed back up the stairs. He glanced around, scanning the area. The house was completely silent, except for the few noises houses always make. Russia felt the tension in his shoulders slip away. Belarus was really gone.

Afterwards, he went straight to the kitchen and downed a glass of vodka. He really needed it right now.

* * *

The next day, after having worked through his paperwork, Russia was restless. He listened to the howling wind outside and thought about what to do. When he decided upon knitting, the dinner of two days earlier came to his mind. He smiled contently at the memory. America said he would like to learn how to knit. Russia was definitely going to keep him to that promise.

Suddenly, another memory popped up. It was about America and England's conversation. England had said that he was going to watch a movie with America this Saturday.

Russia smiled. He knew exactly what he was going to be doing this weekend.

* * *

It was Saturday afternoon. America left Canada's house two days earlier to avoid having to deal with the perverted Frenchman, and had spent the remainder of the time catching up on his paperwork. Now, he was awaiting England's arrival, totally ready for a movie night.

The doorbell rang. America jumped out of his comfy couch and ran up to the door.

"Coming!" he shouted.

Finally Iggy had arrived, he’d been waiting for ages! The American yanked the door open, ready to complain, but quickly shut his mouth when he saw someone unexpected standing on his doormat.

"Privet, Amerika!" Russia said, a childish smile gracing his features.

America blinked a few times, dumfounded. Why was Russia here? He didn't remember having invited the tall man over…

Russia opened his eyes, looking worried.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, miscomprehending the long pause.

America recovered from his initial shock, and shook his head.

"Nope! How can I help you tonight?" he said, pasting on a big smile.

Russia got right to the point.

"England won't be able to make it tonight."

"Huh?" America asked, a suspicious glare directed at the Russian.

"He is sick," Russia assured him. "So, I offered to accompany you tonight. It will be fun, da?" He decided not to tell America that right now, England was tied up in one of his own closets.

America hesitated. Watching horror movies with Russia? He said they were even after that dinner, so it couldn't still be about that. But it wasn't like America and Russia usually spent a lot of time together outside of work. Were there any hidden motives? And why would England tell Russia about their movie night? On the other hand, he really wanted to watch that new flick he'd bought, and he knew he couldn't do it alone. So, after a bit of back and forth, the sunny blond shrugged and stepped aside.

"Sure, come on in."

Russia took off his long coat and gloves, and America guided him to the living room.

"…So, how are things going at your place?" America tried to start a conversation.

"Nothing I can complain about, I guess," Russia answered, happy the American wasn't upset with his unexpected arrival.

America headed towards the kitchen to grab some snacks and something to drink.

"I hope you like horror, we're watching _Zombies versus Ghosts_ tonight!"

Russia chuckled at the title. It sounded so typically American.

His host returned and offered his guest a glass, which the Russian politely declined.

"I have my own drink with me," he explained, tapping the bottle of vodka in his pocket.

America nodded, not really sure about what to say. He wasn't used to having Russia in his house. What did they have to talk about? Luckily, the Russian offered him the solution.

"Let's watch the film, da?"

America smiled gratefully and started up the television, completely focussed on the movie the moment it began.

* * *

America sat on the edge of the couch, shivering and shrieking at the images flashing on the screen. Russia rolled his eyes as he watched the younger nation quiver in fear. He chuckled when the guy jumped as one of the characters got eaten by zombies. Really, how did he find this movie so terrifying? It was beyond predictable, the story was unoriginal, and the monsters looked like cartoon figures. Russia didn't understand it at all. But he was happy. He had read in an article on the Internet that this was what they called quality time, and it was really important in any kind of relationship. So Russia smiled happily at America, who didn't notice because his eyes were still glued to the screen.

America on the other hand, almost wet his pants in terror. He was a sucker for horror, especially with ghosts in them (even though he would never admit it to anyone). He had nearly forgotten about his surroundings, all of his senses focussed on the screen in front of him. He wished he had a pillow to grab onto. The presence of his guest seemed to have completely slipped his mind.

When a hideous face popped up, America let out a girly scream and leapt to his right, ready to hide his face in the back of the couch. However, what he found there was a weird texture. He didn't take much time to think about it though, as his body automatically wrapped itself around this rather large lifebelt. The only thing that his mind registered was that the object was too hard to be a pillow, but his body was more than happy to have found something that could protect him from the images on the screen. He hid his face in something soft and warm, and clenched his arms around the new-found safety.

Russia was frozen. He looked down at the American, who had wrapped his arms around his waist, and had hidden his face in his scarf. The nation blinked, confused. What was the other thinking? Nobody ever hugged Russia (expect for his sister maybe), especially not as tight as this guy was doing right now. Was the movie that scary that he'd rather cling to him like that instead of keep watching it? Apparently it was.

This didn't mean Russia agreed with his behaviour. He wasn't used to being touched like this at all. Normally he would have attacked America and smashed his skull, but the hug had completely taken him by surprise. He softly tried to shake the American off, but it only resulted in the smaller nation clinging even harder to him. He tried to clear his throat, and spoke with a tiny voice.

"…Amerika? Can you let go of me?"

The American didn't seem to hear him. Cold sweat started to break out. Russia could feel the warmth pooling from the other's body, something he was rather unfamiliar with. He tried to free an arm, and only just succeeded in doing this. However, Russia found that America's hand was lying a little too low on his body to stay within his comfort zone. Russia started blushing as he felt the other tremble and muttered sounds reached his ears. He had to find a way to peal the guy off. This was getting weird.

"Amerika. Let go." Was it just him, or did his voice sound strange?

He laid his free hand on America's head and tried to push him away. He felt the blond's body tense up, and finally he began to lift his face.

America stared at the Russian, whom he had apparently mistaken for a lifebelt. He blinked a few times sheepishly, and then he felt his temperature rise.

What. Had. He. Done.

America immediately let go of Russia, pulling his hands back as if electricity had gone through them. His face went beet red. What had he been thinking? Nothing, that was the answer. Not only had he wrapped himself around the intimidating nation that was Russia, he had completely and utterly embarrassed himself. This wasn't how a hero behaved!

"…Don't tell anyone," he whispered, not being able to look the other in the eyes. He was afraid the Russian would go into psycho-mode, but Russia's answer surprised him.

"…Da," Russia said, still not sure what to think about the situation.

They spent the rest of the evening in complete silence, both too embarrassed to do something about the awkward atmosphere. It was only when the movie was done, that Russia spoke up again.

"…Do you have a place for me to sleep, Amerika?"


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Russia's motives finally come to light?

Russia found himself walking through a field of sunflowers. Their heads were turned upwards, as if worshipping their sun god. Russia smiled happily as he gently caressed their yellow leaves and hummed approvingly at seeing their obvious health. He felt entirely at peace. The flowers acted as his company, and he could imagine himself being at a great gathering of family and friends, and it was bliss.

As the first dark clouds started to cover the sun, the scenery immediately transformed. The sunflowers started to dry out and rot, letting their heads hang down to the ground. Russia wanted to shout out in surprise and concern, but no words left his mouth. It was as if something was stuck down his throat, and he found it getting harder to breathe.

When the sunflowers died, so did the sound. The sky was completely dark now, even the tiniest sliver of light blocked out by the clouds. Russia couldn't see a thing. It left him feeling terrified. He wanted to cry out, but the weight on his throat was still there. He tried to swallow, but the action only worsened things.

"…uss…"

Russia tried to turn towards the source of the sound, but all he could make out was complete and utter darkness.

"…ke up…"

Russia fell to the ground, now nearly suffocating. He wasn't going to die, was he?

"Snap out of it!"

As he felt the blockade being removed, his eyes shot open.

Big blue eyes were staring down at him. They were a shade of blue that wasn't exactly like the ocean, but also not entirely like the sky. Russia blinked, his mind blank.

"Are you all right, dude?" America asked.

Russia looked around him. He was lying on the couch in America's house. The light had been turned on, and America was hovering over him, expression concerned.

"I think you were having a nightmare. You were chewing on your scarf, and kept tossing about and stuff."

Russia looked down, and saw that his scarf was indeed covered in saliva. So that was the reason he couldn't shout.

The Russian slowly began to sit up, and America stepped back to give him the room.

"…Sorry," Russia said, embarrassed. As of late the amount of nightmares had increased, but he didn't exactly feel like letting others see him in that helpless state.

"Nah, it's fine dude. As long as you feel better now."

Russia nodded, a faint smile on his pale face.

"I am still sorry to have awoken you from your sleep," he continued.

America looked a little nervous at his words. His eyes trailed through the living room, not looking at the other.

"…Well, actually…"

Russia tilted his head. "Is something wrong?"

America looked down, fumbling with his sleeve. He then mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Come again?" the Russian asked. He had almost forgotten about his nightmare, curious about America's behaviour.

"D'youwantosleepinbedt'night?" was the answer he got.

Russia looked puzzled, trying to decipher the American's words. America sighed and tried again, a blush dusting his cheeks.

"I would like you to sleep in my bed tonight, if you don't mind."

Russia's eyes widened in surprise. The other hadn't been drinking tonight, so Russia was left in the dark as to why he would ask such a thing.

Seeing the look on his face, America reluctantly explained his request.

"I just don't want any ghosts to sneak up on m- I mean you, okay?"

Ah, that explained it. The younger nation was still afraid of the film they had watched.

Russia smiled. "Of course."

The Slavic nation followed his host up to his room. America made sure to turn on every light switch he encountered, and occasionally glanced around. Russia noticed he was trembling. He bent down and laid a hand on America's shoulder.

"Do not worry Amerika, I will protect you."

America jumped at the sudden touch, but then frowned. "H-hell no I don't need any protection! I'm the hero, remember? I just want you in my room so the ghosts don't get to you while you're asleep! Safety in numbers and stuff, you know?"

Russia chuckled, but kept his mouth shut. If America didn't want to admit he was afraid, then so be it. His body spoke for him anyway.

When they reached the bedroom, America quickly shut the door behind him and leapt onto his bed, hiding under the covers. Russia went to the other side of the room, and sat down on the bed as well.

"Do you want to keep on this light?" Russia asked, pointing to the lamp on the night stand.

"…No, you can turn it off," America said from under the covers, his voice muffled. His pride was apparently greater than his fear, which could be considered a good thing in this situation.

Russia turned off the light and slipped under the covers as well, making himself comfortable.

"Good night, Amerika."

"G'night."

Russia lay there quietly for a few minutes, before feeling movement to his left. Slowly but steadily, America crept closer to his guest. Russia kept perfectly still, faking not having noticed it. Soon, he felt the sunny blond curled up at his side, one arm carefully placed around his waist. Russia gently laid his left arm around America's shoulder, fingers squeezing in a comforting manner. The younger stiffened for a few seconds, before relaxing again. They made a silent pact that this would never leave the room. Only Russia would know how America had sought his companionship to keep away the ghosts.

Russia felt the other slowly slipping out of consciousness, and looked up at the ceiling. He felt at peace once more.

The nightmare was not yet forgotten, but Russia knew he would be able to sleep soundly with the feeling of a warm presence at his side. As America began snoring lightly, Russia felt his eyes slide shut, and he drifted away into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

America awoke to the sound of the shower running. The mattress still felt warm under his hands, so Russia hadn't been awake for long as well. America didn't want to leave the bed yet. Sure, yesterday Russia had made no comment on his childish request, but what would he say today? The other times he had needed someone to spend the night with it had been England, Japan, Lithuania or Canada to accompany him. They were friends and family, so America knew they wouldn't tease him about it (or at least they wouldn't tell the others). He could trust them. But could he also trust Russia, a nation who had been his ally as well as his greatest enemy? America truly had no idea.

The sound of the shower had stopped. America tried to listen to the noises coming from the bathroom, wanting to know whether or not Russia would return to his bedroom. He remembered wanting to know if the tall nation showered with his scarf. If Russia wouldn't tease him, maybe he could ask. Maybe.

The American stiffened when he heard footsteps. The door creaked and light poured from the crack.

"Amerika, are you awake?"

America made a muffled sound in response.

"I shall make breakfast, da?"

The door was closed again, and the sound of footsteps distanced itself from the bedroom.

Russia hadn't said anything about last night. This gave America a tiny bit of hope that he wouldn't be teased about it.

America pushed off the covers with newfound energy. He took a quick shower himself and put on some fresh clothes. He almost jumped down the stairs and raced into the kitchen when a lovely smell reached his nose.

"Mornin'," America said as he stifled a yawn.

"Good morning, Amerika," Russia replied as he glanced over his shoulder. His silvery hair was still damp from the shower, and his violet eyes looked brighter after a good night's rest.

"What're you making?" America asked as he took a seat.

"Blin," Russia simply said.

America tried to look over his shoulder, but the other was way too tall for that to be accomplished. He would just have to wait and see.

Russia set down a plate of blini, along with some strawberry jam. It looked like a pancake, so America decided there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with it.

"Thanks, big guy," the blond said, as he started on his first blin.

"Pazhaluhsta," Russia replied.

They ate in silence for a few moments. When America had finished his plate, he decided it was time for some conversation. As long as he could keep Russia from talking about yesterday, everything would be all right.

"So, these blins-"

"Blini," Russia corrected him.

"Blini. They're a Russian dish, right?"

Russia nodded. "Da. Did you like it?"

"Very much, thank you," America said, patting his full belly.

"I am glad. See it as my payment for letting me stay in your house."

"No problem, dude."

This was getting too close to the topic he had wanted to avoid. America quickly tried to think about something else to say, but Russia cut off his thought process.

"So, about last night…"

America's muscles tensed as he nervously looked at the Russian, seated at the other end of the table. If he was going to tease him, America swore he-

"If you do not tell anyone about my nightmare, I won't tell them you are afraid of horror films."

America blinked sheepishly. Due to his own fear, he had already forgotten about Russia's nightmare. Now he felt ashamed of himself. It was a hero's duty to keep others from being afraid, and there he was only worrying about himself! America could smash his head against a wall.

Instead, he simply nodded and grinned widely.

"Sure thing buddy, I won't tell a soul."

"Very good," Russia said. The dangerous flicker in his eyes told the American that if he would break that promise, the consequences wouldn't be pretty.

Right then, America's cellphone began ringing. Happy with the distraction, the nation took it out of his pocket and went to his living room for some privacy.

"United States of Awesome speaking, how can I-"

"Alfred! Are you all right?"

America had to keep the phone away from his ear at the sudden outburst on the other end of the line.

"Um sure, why?" America asked hesitantly. What or who had gotten Iggy in such a foul mood? And wasn't he supposed to be sick?

"Is that Russian scum at your house?" England asked in a sharp tone.

"Yeah sure, you sent him here, right?"

He could hear England growl. "No, I haven't! Yesterday, that bloody prick came to my house and hit me on the head with that faucet of his! When I woke up, I was tied up in my closet, and he had left a note saying not to worry about our movie night, because he was going to be there! I have only just untied myself, and right after that I called you."

America tried to take in this new information.

"…So, you didn't send him?"

"I have already told you that I haven't! So he is there right now? And he didn't do anything to you?" Concern coloured his voice, even though he still sounded extremely enraged.

"No, we just watched the movie."

England was silent for a few moments.

"Look, I'll talk to him," America said.

"All right, but be careful. You never know with Russia. And make sure to tell that wanker I'm bloody pissed at him right now!"

America said goodbye and ended the call. He took in a deep breath, turned around, and marched into the kitchen. Russia was doing the dishes, and didn't look up when he heard America's footsteps. The blue-eyed nation gently sat back down in his chair, and placed his cell on the table. He laid his hands on the surface, and started talking.

"You know, I just got a call from England."

Russia's shoulders stiffened a bit. "Oh, really?" He tried to make his voice sound as innocent as possible.

"Yeah, really. He didn't sound all that pleased. Wanna know why?"

Russia kept quiet, finishing the last plate and drying his hands.

"He informed me that apparently, you had come to his house to knock him out and lock him in his closet, after which you came to my house. Mind telling me why you did that? And don't tell me you just wanted to watch a movie, you didn't have to assault Arthur for that."

Russia finally turned around, avoiding America's eyes. He started fumbling nervously with his scarf, keeping his mouth shut. Next time, he would hit England harder, maybe then the message would get through to his thick skull.

"Russia," America said.

Russia let his eyes trail across the room, deliberately ignoring his host.

" _Russia,_ " America said once again, as he placed his hands on Russia's shoulders. Russia jumped at the sudden touch, he hadn't noticed that America had walked up to him. Instinctively, he tried to reach for his pipe, before remembering it was still sitting in the pocket of his coat, which was hanging out of reach in the hallway.

America tightened his grip, forcing Russia to look him in the eyes.

"Speak up, buddy. I haven't got all day."

Russia didn't want to tell him the truth. America would think of him as pathetic, perhaps pity him. Russia didn't want pity.

"…I was only paying a visit?" he tried, knowing America wouldn't go away if he remained quiet. He could always try to push America off, but the American would quickly gain the upper hand without the security of his faucet. Russia knew from past experiences that fights between the two of them weren't a pretty sight. Russia had agility and experience, but America had brute strength. It would end in an all-out brawl, and Russia didn't feel like fighting with the person he was trying to befriend.

"Tell that to the marines. I asked for the truth."

The truth? "Nyet," Russia whispered, as his cheeks started to colour a faint pink.

America was startled by this shy reaction, but didn't remove his hands. He tried a different approach.

"Come on buddy, I swear I won't be mad. Just tell me."

Russia had nowhere to go. Could he trust the American with his secret? He had read somewhere that friends often told each other secrets, but Russia didn't know if he was ready for that yet.

America tried to look him in the eyes. Russia hid his face in his scarf, blushing even harder.

"…dsqslkjj."

America blinked. "Could you say that again? I promise I won't yell at you." America found himself talking to the Russian as if he were a child that had done something naughty. It seemed to work, because even though Russia hid his face even deeper, he spoke more clearly this time.

"I… I was hoping we could be friends."

America had not expected this response. He removed his hands, laughing sheepishly. "I'm sorry?"

Russia finally looked up, his eyes almost watery.

 _'He isn't going to cry, is he?_ ' America thought anxiously.

"I… I want to be your friend. A-and I thought, friends watch movies together, so…"

America didn't understand what the Russian was saying at all.

"Then why did you have to knock out England?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Russia blushed even deeper. "I was afraid I would never be invited into your house if I was not sent there by one of your friends."

He was serious. America couldn't believe the words that were coming out of Russia's mouth, but he could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"…Dude. You know that if you want to be friends with someone, you don't just knock out their other friends, right?"

Russia fiddled some more with his scarf. "I am sorry. I did not know what else to do. I was lonely."

There. He had said it. Russia anxiously awaited America's response.

At those words, America's heart made a pang. Yes, Russia had made some serious mistakes, and man, did he have issues. But the thought of someone being lonely and coming to him for help, awoke the hero in him from his (nearly non-existent) slumber. His mind told him it was insane to even consider becoming friends with this psychopath, but his heart told him he had to help the poor soul. Because not only had he said he was lonely, America truly believed Russia when he said he didn't know what else to do. Because perhaps Russia _really_ had no idea. Perhaps he had never been taught how to interact normally with others. Perhaps that task was up to America.

Right then and there, America made a decision. He knew he wasn't going to like it one bit, but that was just what heroes did. They helped those in need.

America sighed.

"All right, big guy. I'll be your friend."

Russia blinked. Had America really said those sweet words?

"But then we're gonna have to work on your people skills, right?" he warned.

Russia was speechless.

"Oh yeah, and you can call me Alfred, I guess." America smiled one of his most brilliant smiles.

Russia blinked again, and slowly began to smile as well.

"…Then you can call me Ivan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Pazhaluhsta: You're welcome


	5. Of things to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter France, and let the friendship oficially begin!

"So you can't just get rid of England and take his place every time you want to visit me. If you want to come over, just give me a call, okay? No more violence."

"No more violence…" Russia was sitting at America's table, taking notes while the other was lecturing him on 'things one cannot do when trying to befriend someone.’ Russia wasn't completely sure about some of the advice he was given. Why wouldn't he be allowed to use violence? It worked, didn't it? On the other hand, Russia clearly wasn't an expert at relationships. If he were, he wouldn't be sitting here, scribbling away in his little notebook.

When America saw that he had written everything down, he nodded approvingly. If Russia would follow his advice, improvement in his behaviour was certain to come. That would be able to at least partially satisfy the hero inside of him.

"All right, let's take a break."

America rose from his seat and grabbed a candy bar. He offered one to his guest, who politely refused. America sat down again, secretly casting glances at his 'student'. Even though he had accepted Russia's sort of offer, he still had doubts and questions.

While his mind was occupied with said questions, his eyes lazily trailed over the Russian, who was looking over his notes.

His hands gently held the little notebook, fingers lightly tracing the letters. You'd think a guy that big would be a little rougher in his movements, but Russia could be surprisingly elegant. Socially awkward, mentally not always that stable and often childlike in behaviour, but still elegant. His silvery ashen blond hair looked smooth and touchable, and his violet eyes could be mesmerizing at times. The only flaw had to be that overgrown nose of his, but still, it fit him somehow. On Russia's particular face, it simply didn't feel like a flaw.

"What are you thinking about?" Russia suddenly asked. He had grown uncomfortable under the incessant staring, even though he participated in that activity quite a lot himself.

America, startled, blurted out the question he'd been thinking about that very moment. "Why choose me?"

Russia looked at him with a serious expression and laid down his notebook. He hummed as he thought about what to say. After that last confession, he found it a lot easier to control his emotions.

"You are fun to be with," he finally decided on saying. Russia wasn't planning on elaborating any further, at least not for now. Maybe in the far-off future. As in a few decades from now.

America laughed sheepishly, not sure how to deal with the compliment. Russia smiled reassuringly, before returning to his notes.

Fun to be with, huh? Well, there was no denying that. But America was surprised the Russian had noticed. They hadn't been on friendly terms for quite a long period, things only gradually smoothing down just a couple of years ago. During the Cold War, America could remember every little thing Russia said or did tended to irritate him. The way he smiled, how he could sneak up on someone without anybody noticing, how he never got rid of those warm winter clothes in the middle of summer, even the way he cleared his throat. Apparently Russia hadn't felt the same way. That, or he was easy to forgive and forget.

America sighed. Russia was just too hard to try and figure out.

"Wanna go grab something to eat somewhere?"

"Da, I would like that very much."

"Great! Oh and, you're buying."

* * *

America and Russia were sitting on a bench in a park near the smaller nation's house, each with a hotdog in hand.

America was sulking slightly, rubbing the sore spot on top of his head. Russia had refused to pay for him. When America had tried to convince him that a good friend _always_ paid for the other, the Slavic nation had given him a 'light' correcting tap on the head, telling him he at least knew enough about relationships to be able to tell this was a lie.

Oh well, it was worth the try.

After a bit of stalling at the hotdog cart ("Are you certain there are no dogs in this?"), they had found a nice spot in the shade. America took a big bite, savouring the flavour of meat, bread, different sauces, a touch of chili and onions. He tried different toppings every time he went. Of course, hotdogs weren't anywhere near as good as hamburgers, but they were still delicious.

"You eat this often?" Russia inquired, after watching a group of children passing by with hotdogs of their own.

"Depends on what you consider often." America avoided the question.

Russia chuckled in that childish little way of his, deciding not to further press the subject. He knew the sunny blond could be quite insecure when it came to his weight. It was only natural, with the other nations always teasing him. Not that he had a reason to be, it was mostly muscle after all. He probably couldn't even tell the difference.

They sat there eating their lunch in a comfortable silence, enjoying the unexpected warm and sunny day, thinking about things that were still to come.

* * *

England was pissed, and France knew why. France had been the one who found the Brit tied up in his closet, and he had freed him. England hadn't even scolded him for suddenly being at his house; he had gone straight to his phone to dial America's number.

France was observing the angry Englishman at the other side of the room, frown even deeper than usual. He had made tea to relax himself and had offered his guest some burnt scones, which France strategically declined (he wasn't planning on getting sick any time soon).

As England kept scowling at his phone, France felt more than a little annoyed himself. He was irritated because England did not know the reason for his own anger. Sure, anyone would get pissed after being smacked on the head with a leaden pipe and then locked away in their own closet, but there were other reasons for his foul mood, and France knew what they were.

England was angry because Russia had gone to America, and now the Brit had missed a change to spend some time with his former colony. England thought it was fatherly protection he felt, having taken care for America as a child.

But France knew better.

England didn't love America as a father or a brother. No. He was _in love_ with the American. And the worst part was, the guy himself didn't realize this.

France however, being the country of love, knew. He had noticed the change from concern to jealousy, from the need to protect to the want of possession. But England was still as oblivious to his feelings as ever. And France wanted to keep it that way.

Because every time he heard England talk about his precious America, he felt a pang of jealousy himself. For France was in love with the self-proclaimed gentleman.

He first noticed it when England had won the love of America, and started boasting about every tiny thing his 'little brother' said or did. France's mind _made_ him notice his feelings, because for the first time, he didn't have England all to himself anymore. Before, he had made sure to take up as much of England's free time as possible, filling his head with thoughts of him. Now, he had to share the attention with a little kid. And it was only then that he understood his feelings. The need to make England think of him came from a desire to make the Englishman love him.

So, realizing this, France tried even harder to make the other think of him. But it had all been in vain. England didn't love him. And now, he had grown to unconsciously love the American.

France was hurt every time he thought about it. It wasn't fair. He had known England far longer than the young nation. Why couldn't the Englishman just love him instead?

The blue-eyed nation studied England, wine glass in hand. He wanted to touch his lips, stroke his eyebrows, trace his jawline, ruffle his blond hair, and kiss him until they were out of breath. But no. That would just worsen the Brit's already foul mood.

As France watched the Englishman take a sip of his tea, he made a decision. If England was too oblivious to take notice of his own feelings, he would never notice those of France either. So maybe he needed a little more encouragement.

France smiled to himself as he made plans. England wouldn't even have a second to think about America for the time to come.

* * *

America jumped as he got a call. "United States of America speaking, how may I help you?"

"Ah, Amérique! Francis speaking."

What business did France have with him?

"Hiya! What can I do for you?"

"I have a request to make. Could you not call Angleterre for a couple of days? He is still quite shaken by the incident," France continued.

So apparently France knew what happened. America shrugged.

"Sure thing buddy. Tell him I'll wait until he feels good enough to call me himself."

"I shall. Au revoir!"

America ended the call. Russia looked at him, question visible in his eyes. America was about to inform him of the call, when his phone buzzed again.

"Looks like I'm popular today…" he mumbled, before picking up.

"United States of Amazing speaking."

"Ve~, America! Nice to speak to you!"

America smiled. Speaking to Northern Italy always lifted his spirits.

"Hey Feliciano, what's up?"

"Me and my fratello are giving a birthday party on the 17th of March, would you like to come?" the Italian asked.

"Sure thing buddy! And-"

America glanced at Russia, making a quick decision.

"Is it all right with you if I bring Russia with me?"

Russia perked up at the mention of his name.

"Oh uh… Sure!" the nation said hesitantly. He was known to be scared of the Russian, but he would make sure his new friend behaved.

"Great! I'll see you then!"

"Ciao America!"

America hung up for the third time that day. His battery definitely needed some recharging by now. Russia was looking at him with big, childlike eyes.

"Looks like we're going to a party buddy!"

* * *

Russia was sitting on America's couch. He had his coat on, and his things were neatly packed away in the bag he’d brought. After America had informed him of the upcoming party, Russia had to admit that he would need to go home to pick up some things. He didn't feel like going home right now, but he knew he couldn't stay away for too long.

America walked up to him. "And remember, you can just call me if you feel lonely. But I would like it very much if you'd make some other friends as well. And give Arthur a call to apologize!"

Russia nodded reluctantly, taking in his 'homework'. Maybe he'd try giving Lithuania a call. Not that much good ever came out of him trying to call somebody. But at least Lithuania wasn't such a rude scaredy-cat as Latvia.

America guided him to the door. After a little inner debate, he reached out and lightly hugged Russia. He had to show the guy the proper way of saying goodbye after staying at a friend's.

Russia hesitantly returned the hug, careful, so as not to hurt the smaller nation. His heart made a weird little flop when he felt hands tap his back. _'Why is that?_ ' he wondered. The hug was broken all too soon to his tastes.

"See you at the party, big guy!" America said with a wide grin.

Russia returned the smile, deciding to ignore the odd behaviour of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be calling Italy either Veneziano or Northern Italy, since it's not fair he's called Italy and Romano is just plain Romano. They're both a part of the same country, and therefore deserve an equal amount of love. :)
> 
> And I know in French you use articles in front of countries (for example l’Amérique), but I have a theory: whenever France is speaking about the landmass, he uses articles, but when he is referring to the personification he doesn’t. You wouldn’t use articles in front of people’s names after all.
> 
> Words:  
> Amérique: America  
> Angleterre: England  
> Au revoir: Goodbye  
> Ciao: Goodbye/Hi


	6. La Dolce Italia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Bad Touch Trio, and let's get this Italian party started!

Russia listened to the sound of the phone going over. He had already packed his bags for the upcoming party. The Vargas brothers had reserved a hotel especially for all of the invited nations, in which they could stay for three days. Veneziano made sure every day was filled with fun activities. Russia was looking forward to it, the child in him excited. But first, he had to do his homework.

"Bonjour, this is the house of England. How may I help you?" a voice with a distinct French accent took the call.

Russia frowned. Why was France answering England's calls?

"Privet, Frantsiya. It is Russia."

"Ah, monsieur Russie! England cannot talk right now, do you want to leave a message?"

Russia nodded, then realized the Frenchman couldn't see him. "Da. Could you tell him I said sorry for the visit?"

"Message noted," France replied, before abruptly ending the call.

Russia stared in disbelief at the receiver. Had France just hung up on him? Next time they would meet, he would have to teach the man a lesson or two about manners… Kolkolkol…

Oh well. On to the next assignment.

Russia felt nervous as he dialled Lithuania's number. A call to his former subordinate always left him feeling uncomfortable, recalling sad memories from the past.

The snowy blond snapped from this thought process when a voice reached his ears.

"Lithuania speaking."

"Ah, privet. It is me, Russia."

"Oh… Hold on a second."

Russia patiently listened to the muffled sounds on the other side of the line, wondering what the nation was doing.

"Mister Russia?" Lithuania asked, voice but a mere whisper.

"Is something wrong?" Russia inquired.

"Um… It's just that, your sister came to visit, and I think she would get rather… excited, if she knew it was you calling…"

"I see…" Russia felt a shiver travel down his spine. "Spasiba."

"Oh, um… No problem?" Lithuania carefully replied.

"So… How is Natalia?" the Russian's voice had taken to whispering as well.

"She was… rather agitated when she got here, and kind of… broke my arm… But it's not her fault really, I just didn't get out of the way fast enough!"

Lithuania really had a rather disturbing taste in women.

"My apologies. My sister can get a bit rough when she is worked up."

"Oh, I don't mind at all!" Lithuania let out an awkward little laugh before becoming silent.

Russia frantically searched for something to say, dreading the silence. Luckily, it was interrupted by Lithuania before it got too bad.

"So um, are you coming to Italy's party as well?"

"Da. Alfred invited me." Russia liked the way America's name sounded, leaving a sweet aftertaste on his tongue as the word left his mouth.

"Alfred?" Lithuania's voice rose a few pitches in surprise. Not only because the tall nation was going to the party with America, but also because he'd called him by his human name. Lithuania had lived with both Russia and America, and he'd never imagined the two of them becoming friends. He knew they hadn’t always been on bad terms, but still…

"Da," Russia said, the warning audible in his tone.

"Oh! That is wonderful!" Lithuania hastily replied. "It's going to be a lot of fun! I'll… see you at the party then?"

"Da, see you there."

Lithuania ended the call and decided to warn the other Baltics of Russia's presence at the party. First though, he was going to give Belarus some home-made cookies. He sincerely hoped she wouldn't break his other arm.

Russia hung up his phone as well, thinking about the upcoming day. Yes, it _was_ going to be fun. And he couldn't wait to see his little Amerika again. Thinking about him left Russia feeling giddy and gleeful.

Having friends sure was nice. And rather addictive.

* * *

America lazily stretched his arms as he got out of the cab and looked up at the hotel. The Italian brothers sure had picked a nice place for the party; a grand hotel of several stories high, located on a sunny plaza. He picked up his bags and walked over to the front door. Before he could enter, he felt two hands cover his eyes and a voice coo: "Guess who I am!"

America's lips slightly twitched upwards. "Ivan?"

"Very good!" Russia released him and he turned around. The Russian was smiling widely, a jolly look in his eyes. His obvious happiness was contagious, as America found himself smiling as well.

"Hey there big guy. How you doing?"

"Very good, thank you. And I want you to know I completed your tasks."

America nodded approvingly. "See? It wasn't that hard, was it?"

Russia wanted to disagree with him; he had found it considerably difficult to make the calls. Before he could though, Northern Italy walked through the doors.

"Ve~, I knew I heard voices! Welcome to the party! You can leave your bags in the lobby and come to the foyer, there we will inform you of the room arrangements once everyone has arrived."

The Italian cheerfully kissed America on both cheeks, but hesitated when he turned to Russia. Russia bent over and promptly placed a kiss on his lips. Northern Italy didn't know whether he should be flustered or happy with the cold nation's open behaviour, so he chose to be both.

"G-Grazie! Now if you'll excuse me, I left Ludwig alone in the kitchen, and I should go check on him. Ciao!" The nation did his best not to sprint away.

America stared at Northern Italy's back. His mind had trailed off, making him wonder how a kiss from Russia would feel like. When he registered what he thought, he swiftly scooped up their bags and all but ran inside. Now that was just a plain ol' weird thing to be thinking.

Oblivious to America's inner debate, Russia trailed along, taking in his surroundings. It was definitely a rather expensive hotel, but it still held this cosy feel to it. Russia hummed in appreciation when he spotted a pot with a single large sunflower in it. He instantly took a liking to the place.

As the two nations entered the foyer, America saw a seething England running up to him.

"Yo Iggy!" America yelled out, unable to read the atmosphere as usual.

"Good Lord! I am so glad to see you!"

Wait. Had England really just said that? And he looked incredibly exhausted for some reason.

"I have finally found a chance to get away from that bloody frog! He has been following my every step these past few days!"

America blinked sheepishly. "…Huh?" was the only answer that seemed to fit the situation.

England scowled at him for his lack of understanding and opened his mouth to speak, but then he finally noticed Russia's presence.

"My apologies, how rude of me-" He then seemed to remember the circumstances under which they had previously met, and his frown increased just a tad.

"Privet, Angliya. I hope Francis has relayed my message?"

England nodded, lips stubbornly pursed tight. Russia began to emit a dark purple aura while the two of them held a staring contest, and America felt he had to interfere.

"Hey guys, look over there! It's Matthew! We should definitely go say hi to him."

For once, Canada wasn't all that happy about being noticed.

* * *

On the other side of the room, France was throwing dirty looks in England's general direction.

"Merde, Angleterre…" he mumbled to himself. He had looked the other way for just a few seconds, and already he found the Englishman running to America like a lost puppy. It infuriated France like nothing else could.

"Yo, Francis! Ze Awesome Me has entered!" a voice with a very German accent called out to him.

"Hola amigo!" a second voice added.

France smiled and looked up as his two best friends Spain and Prussia walked over to him.

"Mes amis. How have you been?"

"Awesome as ever!" Prussia cackled.

"Definitely good! Especially since I get to see my precious Lovi again!" Spain giggled.

"Hey, don't do things I wouldn't do tonight!" Prussia warned him, red eyes shining teasingly. The three of them burst into laughter. As if there was _anything_ they wouldn't do! They weren't called the Bad Touch Trio just for fun!

"Tell me Gil, is your little crush here?" Spain asked, winking at the Prussian.

"You mean the little master?" Prussia's eyes scanned the room, and he smirked as his prey entered his vision.

"There he is! Little Roderich and Lizzy! Oh, they think they look so nice together…" Prussia's mood darkened as he watched Hungary place a kiss on Austria's cheek. France and Spain threw each other a swift glance, concerned about their friend. Only the two of them (and maybe Germany, since he was Prussia's brother) knew about Prussia's infatuation with the Austrian. But it was obvious that Austria preferred Hungary, so they didn't really know what to do about it.

France sighed, feeling sorry for his friend. He knew exactly what the other felt. The only difference was that while Austria and Hungary openly loved each other, both England and America were oblivious to the Brit's feelings. It was frustrating to watch.

"Is something wrong?" the Spaniard asked his French friend. He followed France's gaze, and gasped when he noticed the three (no wait, four) people at the other side of the room. He gingerly placed a hand on France's shoulder. "Still no luck?"

Prussia tried to find out who they were watching (it was so un-awesome to be left out of the conversation), while France smiled painfully.

Spain patted his shoulder. "Love is hard." Not that Spain had any right to talk; out of the three of them, he was the only one whose love interest loved them back (Romano just didn't like to openly show it, but they all knew it was true).

"We are pathetic," Prussia snorted, very out of character, which meant he was really feeling down.

Spain suddenly snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute! I have an idea!"

France and Prussia looked at him, heads tilted to note a silent question.

"Romano has told me something interesting about the room arrangements. And I think this can greatly benefit you, amigo."

France listened to his plan with big eyes, loving every syllable that came out of Spain's mouth.

"Antonio, tu es un génie!" France exclaimed when Spain finished his explanation.

"That awesome plan is definitely going to work! Kesesesese!"

The yellow chick named Gilbird simply tweeted on top of Prussia's head, not really giving a fuck.

* * *

America was relieved when North-and South-Italy finally announced that they were going to inform the guests of the room arrangements. He and Canada had had a very difficult time trying to keep Russia and England from getting into a fight with each other. For some reason, England was even stingier than usual, and he didn't back away from the threats that kept spilling out of Russia's mouth at all. Now, they would just have to shut up and listen.

"Ve~, I am happy you could all make it!" Italy Veneziano happily waved at the guests.

Romano tried not to frown as he took over. "So, my stupid little brother thought it would be boring to let you all choose your own rooms, and he made this system to-"

"Ve! Fratello, why would you call me stupid? That is not nice!"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm explaining something you idiot! Anyways, you are all going to get a roommate. Feliciano has written down all of your names and put them in this bag, and you're all going to pull out the name of the person you'll be rooming with, got it?" He really had to do his best not to sound bored.

Some nations scowled at the people they definitely did not want to be roommates with. However, they would have to let fate decide.

"Ve~, I'll go first!" Northern Italy said, sticking his arm in the bag. He beamed when he saw whose name he had pulled out. "Luddy! We're going to be roommates!"

Germany lightly blushed as the smaller nation practically leapt into his arms. Romano scoffed at them before going around the room. Japan got paired up with Greece, and Spain pulled out Romano (making Spain squeal and Romano blush and scowl at him). Belgium and Hungary got to share a room, China was stuck with South Korea, and Austria was paired up with the Netherlands. After this, Prussia pulled out Canada's name. He looked over and grinned widely at the Canadian. The two of them had been friends for quite some time, Prussia being one of the few who could always see Canada – Russia could too, he just deliberately ignored him because he liked the way the Canadian reacted to that.

Finally, Romano reached their little group. America went first, and pulled out Russia's name. He smiled and winked at the taller nation, who happily smiled back. It wasn't like this was the first time they'd share a room, so they were already comfortable with the idea. America grinned at the thoughts that crossed his mind. This almost felt like going camping or having a sleepover something. It was exciting!

Now it was England's turn. And that's where things went wrong. England froze as he pulled out France's name. France winked at his friends when he heard his name being called out (they had bribed Romano with tomatoes to keep France's name in there for England to pick), but the British nation wasn't so happy with the outcome. When France walked over, he was still frozen in place.

"Ah Angleterre, it seems fate has brought us together!"

England finally found his tongue again. "Shut up! I am _not_ going to sleep in the same room as you!"

"I promise I won't touch you," France tried to reassure him.

"No! I'm going to ask for a switch!" As England turned around to catch up with the Italian, France grabbed his sleeve.

"What?!" England growled.

"Do you hate me that much?" France asked. England was startled by the actual hurt in France's voice. He slowly turned around, to see the deflated look in the Frenchman's blue eyes. Now where on earth had that come from?

"…No, I don't," England reluctantly admitted.

France looked up hesitantly, eyes pleading. "I really won't bother you, so… Please?"

England felt his heart skip a beat as he looked at France's face. France had been acting really strange these past few days, that was undeniable. But when England saw those hopeful eyes, he just couldn't say no. They had known each other for centuries after all, he really did care about the damned frog (not that he'd ever admit it).

"…Fine. But break that promise and I'll kill you, you wine-loving bastard."

France's face lit up. "Merci beaucoup," he whispered, now a gentle look in his eyes.

England found it suddenly hard to look away, but he forced himself to anyway. What was wrong with France? But more importantly, what was wrong with him?

While the two of them had been having their little discussion, America, Canada and Russia discretely removed themselves from the picture. Well, it was mostly due to Canada's urging, America being unable to read the mood and Russia being far too interested in a possible quarrel. America still had questions though. Why _was_ France taking up all of Iggy's time? He felt a nudge at his shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?" Russia asked.

America shook his head and smiled up at him. "To be quite honest, I don't even know myself."

But Canada knew. For he too had noticed the strange behaviour of both England and France. Only, Canada had better speculations, having been raised by France himself. And also, since when had Russia and his brother become so close?

Canada sighed, and the polar bear in his arms looked up, confused.

"Who are you?" Kumajiro asked.

"I'm Canada," Canada said, deciding to forget about it all for now and just celebrate the birthday of the two Italian brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Bonjour: Hello (Literally: Good day)  
> Frantsiya: France  
> Monsieur Russie: Mister Russia  
> Spasiba: Thank you  
> Grazie: Thank you  
> Angliya: England  
> Merde: Dammit  
> Hola amigo: Hi friend  
> Mes amis: My friends  
> Tu es un génie: You are a genius  
> Merci beaucoup: Thank you very much


	7. Think, Eat, Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America does some thinking, everyone does some eating, and someone cries?

America was lying on his bed, thinking.

After everyone had gotten a roommate and key, the Italian brothers informed them dinner would be ready in two hours. The guests then all went to their respective rooms, and now had some free time. Before America reached his room though, Canada had pulled him apart for a moment. Ignoring America’s question of who he was, the other interrupted him.

"What exactly is going on between you and Russia?" he asked.

Before America could answer though, Prussia came to collect his brother. America promised the Canadian they would talk about it later. So now, he was thinking about what he was going to say.

He was alone in the room; Russia had gone off to pay a visit to France for some reason. America studied the flowery design on the ceiling, letting his brains do their work.

_‘What exactly is going on between me and Russia, huh?’_

He couldn't tell Canada he was just doing his work as a hero, and was trying to work on Russia's social skills. Or could he? No, America was sure his brother would lecture him about 'no playing with the feelings of others' or something like that. You didn't just become friends with someone to teach them what friendship is. On the other hand, if he were to tell anybody, it would have to be his brother. No, he would just tell Canada they had suddenly noticed they got along quite nicely, and therefore had decided to become friends. And if the other would keep questioning him, he would just shrug and laugh it off. America didn't feel like giving difficult or vague explanations and getting lectured for it. This was something he had bestowed upon himself, something _he_ wanted to work on. But maybe Canada wouldn't immediately disapprove?

America let out a frustrated sigh and jumped off of his bed. Thinking about all of this only made his head hurt. Because frankly, it wasn't even him that had made the decision to become Russia's friend. It was that part of him that always wanted to be the hero, no matter the situation. Did his _real_ self want to help the Russian?

_'Yes I do_.'

America was shocked by his own thoughts. He _did_ want to be friends with Russia? Why?

_'Because Russia is actually a nice guy when he's not being violent. And most of all because he is lonely. I don't want people to be lonely, not even Russia._ '

Wow, his mind was on a roll today. The reasoning sounded perfectly clear. Still, America was left feeling a little confused. He decided to go take a walk to cool his mind, and exited the room.

The hallways were pretty lively at the moment. Sealand was running around excitedly, followed by the watchful eye of Sweden and Finland. South Korea was pestering China, claiming the paintings on the wall had their origins in his country. Greece was taking a stroll, followed by an entire army of cats.

America halted when he heard sounds leaking out of one of the rooms.

"Non! Je suis vraiment désolé! JE T'EN SUPPLIE!"

"Kolkolkolkolkol…"

America shuddered and decided to keep walking. Yes, it was his duty to protect the innocent, but it was France for Pete's sake! It was very likely his own damn fault for getting Russia upset.

America just kept walking, trying to clear his mind. That is until it came to him: there was nothing to clear.

Fact: he wanted to help Russia get rid of his loneliness.

Fact: he could just tell Canada they had come to like one another.

Fact: America realized he really _did_ like the Russian, as weird as that may sound. His past self would have been shocked, disgusted by the very idea. But his modern day self actually felt quite comfortable with it all.

…Fact: He was happy about making a new friend. America was a companion animal, he couldn't stand the thought of having no one around him. For him the saying 'the more the merrier' definitely counted.

So, knowing all of this, there was nothing to worry about, was there?

With his thoughts sorted out, America returned to his room, mind at peace. Upon returning, he found Russia sitting in a chair and reading a book. When he heard the door open, the nation looked up and smiled (he was secretly hoping America wouldn't notice the bloodied pipe lying in the bathtub).

"Hey there big guy," America said, returning the smile. Yes, he was just going to enjoy being friends with Russia.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Loud laughter and chattering could be heard from the dining room, where all the nations had gathered for a splendid meal. Both North-and South-Italy had made a couple of excellent courses, helped by China and Turkey. France was supposed to help as well, but he had disappeared for some odd reason. The guests sat scattered across the room, seated at tables suited for at max five people. America and Russia were sharing a table with Canada and Prussia. The American and the Prussian kept telling each other obnoxious jokes, while the other two ate in silence.

Russia simply enjoyed listening to his companions, happy with the pleasant mood that seemed to be draped over the room. It also gave him time to think back on his previous 'encounter' with France. The Frenchman now knew better than to ever try and hang up on him again.

Canada shivered when he saw the look on Russia's face, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Hey Birdie, what are you thinking about?" Prussia suddenly asked him, having noticed the nation being a little quiet. America looked at his brother curiously, as if only now noticing his presence.

Canada opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as Belgium asked everyone's attention. She, the Netherlands and Switzerland had just come out of the kitchen with baskets filled with chocolaty treats.

"Hallo everyone! To celebrate Feliciano and Lovino's birthday, Vash, Abel and I have made some desserts! We hope you like them!" Belgium said.

"Have you made any special brownies?" Prussia yelled out.

"Maybe," the Netherlands replied coolly, face emotionless.

Prussia was very generous with his next grin.

"Hallo!" Belgium tittered as she reached their table. "How have you all been doing?"

"Great, thanks!" America said as he scooped up a piece of cake from her basket.

"Awesome as always Emma," Prussia nearly purred, searching for any brownies.

Belgium scoffed playfully at him before turning to the other two.

"Our brother Henri would have loved to be here, but he couldn't get away. Too much work." Henri was the human name for the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, the little brother of the Netherlands and Belgium. Belgium said he wasn't here because of work, but the real reason was probably because Liechtenstein had come over to visit… If Switzerland knew about this, he would have stayed home as well. But luckily, his mind was preoccupied by his Belgian girlfriend.

"Thank you," Canada whispered as he picked out a dessert as well.

Belgium then turned to Russia, still smiling. Russia hummed happily and took a treat as well, thanking the other for her thoughtfulness (and happy Belgium didn't cower away from his creepy little smile).

"It's my pleasure! Vash and I love working with chocolate after all!" Belgium said proudly.

"This stuff is amazing!" America drooled.

"Bedankt!" Belgium was beaming, and gleefully skidded back to the kitchen to drop off her now almost empty basket.

At that moment, France finally entered, covered in noticeable bruises. He silently made his way to the table were England was sitting at, trying to avoid the stares he got, and desperately trying to stay out of sight from a certain Russian. He immediately got questioned by a very concerned looking Englishman, which made him a little happy. He couldn't tell what happened though, and just shrugged it off, saying he fell down the stairs. England didn't believe the obvious lie, but decided to give it a rest for the time being. If France wanted to be stubborn, then so be it.

At another table, Spain was trying to kiss his beloved Lovino.

"Not now, you damn tomato bastard! Wait till tonight…" Romano whispered, embarrassed.

Spain coloured a bright pink at his words, and his imagination started running wild.

Near the back of the room, a shy German gave Veneziano a kiss on the cheek, wishing him a happy birthday. The Italian was ecstatic with the gesture, and nearly knocked Germany out of his chair when he attacked him with hugs and kisses.

Poland was discussing the best brand of nail polish with Hungary, while Lithuania and Austria awkwardly tried not to be involved in the conversation.

Greece and Japan were having a conversation about cats, while Turkey kept trying to aggravate the Greek.

So, considering how their meetings went, all of the guests were having a relatively good time. At least for now, things were going smoothly.

* * *

America was trying to watch some television while Russia was busy taking a shower. He was comfortably full and the room had exactly the right temperature. He was definitely going to sleep well tonight. He decided to put on his pyjamas and get under the covers while his roommate was in the bathroom. After making a warm little nest he decided to give his eyes some rest until Russia returned. He slipped off Texas and neatly put the glasses away. Yes, he could watch some TV when the Russian returned…

As Russia exited the bathroom, he found America fast asleep. He chuckled softly as he turned off the television. He went over to America's bed and looked down at him. His sleeping face really was cute. Golden locks were spread out over the pillow, except for that weird little pluck that always stood up. His lips were slightly parted, and an expression of pure bliss soothed his features. His chest rose and fell at an easy pace, and he had the blankets clutched in his hands in an adorably innocent way.

Russia smiled, a genuine smile this time. A warm feeling spread through his chest as he eyed the sleeping American. Something urged him to bend over and gingerly place a kiss on America's cheek. America lightly stirred in his sleep, but didn't wake up. Russia waited a few seconds before getting back up, taking in America's smell now that he had the chance. He smelled of sunlight and his beloved hamburgers, of green grass and forests, of muddy swamps, earthy soil and rich history. He smelled like a nation who had influences from the entire world, a collection of many different people and cultures. He smelled of diversity, but somehow it all fit together. He was the United States of America after all.

Russia regained his composure when America stirred again. He silently crept over to his own bed, getting under the covers without a sound. He turned on his night light and flicked off the big lights. He took out his book and began to read, every now and then looking back at his companion.

America was slowly filling up the hole in his chest. His plan was working.

* * *

In another room, Canada was trying to sleep as well. His concern for both his brother and the discussion earlier between France and England kept him awake. But soon, something else drew his attention.

Canada could hear soft sounds coming from the other bed. It almost sounded like… Prussia was crying. Which couldn't possibly be true. Canada had never seen the Prussian cry before. He was too 'awesome' for that, as he often said himself.

But Prussia _was_ crying. The room arrangements and dinner had kept his mind off of things, but now that he was in a quiet room, his thoughts had gone back to Austria. And with the help of a little booze, he could no longer keep his feelings locked away. He loved the damn bastard, why couldn't the other see that? But he didn't want to steal him away from Hungary either. That would be incredibly un-awesome, and he and Hungary had gone through too much together to even consider that. He did care for her as his childhood friend, even though he would really love to pound her to smithereens right now.

As the sniffling increased, Canada soundly got out of his bed. He tip-toed to the other, and laid a hand on the bump of body and blankets.

"Gilbert, are you all right?"

Prussia stiffened at the touch. Shit, he had been found out! This was not cool at all! He wasn't supposed to let others know he was hurting! …On the other hand, he did like Canada, so maybe he could trust him…

"Gilbert?" Canada said again, voice soft and comforting.

Prussia cautiously got up from under his covers, crimson rubies even redder than usual. Canada was keeping a close eye on him while he changed positions. What had made his friend this sad?

Prussia looked up to apologize for his un-awesome behaviour, but when he saw the look on Canada's face, he felt a lump in his throat. He looked away, not wanting even Canada to see him like this. He wanted to tell the nation that everything was fine, that he should go back to sleep. But he couldn't. Instead, a sad little whimper escaped his mouth.

Prussia was startled as he felt two arms wrap themselves around his body, pulling him into a comforting hug. Tears started streaming down his cheeks again as he slumped against the Canadian's shoulder. A hand softly rubbed his back, while he buried his face in the other's pyjama tops. He had never felt so pathetic before.

Canada said nothing. He simply wanted to give Prussia a chance to get it out of his system. He didn't even have to explain why he was crying. Canada just hated how helpless he felt when he saw the great Prussia this miserable. He had to comfort him somehow, he simply _had_ to.

When Prussia could finally speak again, he uttered only one sentence: "You are the only one who has ever seen me like this, Birdie."

Canada smiled lightly and increased his grip on the other.

"I won't tell anyone," he promised, making Prussia smile once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Non : No  
> Je suis vraiment désolé: I am truly sorry  
> Je t'en supplie: I beg of you  
> Hallo: Hey  
> Bedankt: Thanks


	8. Well this is awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When America wakes up with a little problem, things get a tad bit awkward.

America woke up in the middle of the night because of strange noises coming from the room next to theirs. At first his dazed mind thought it might be a poltergeist or something like that, but then it became clear just what kind of noises they were. America growled and tried to go back to sleep, cursing his neighbours.

But then he heard a sound he'd rather not come across in the middle of the night.

America rapidly rolled onto his other side and peered at Russia. A very soft but distinct "kolkolkol" could be heard. America quickly put on his glasses and switched on the light on his night stand. The Russian was still asleep, but by the looks of it he was bound to wake up if their neighbours kept going at it. America didn't even want to imagine what Russia would do if somebody were to disturb his beauty sleep. America knew he had to prevent that from happening.

He flung his legs over the edge of his bed and got up. America tip-toed to the door and once he was outside of his room, he marched over to the next one. If his neighbours desperately wanted to do this right now, they would have to do it a little quieter.

He knocked hard on the door and heard the noises come to an abrupt stop. The American tried to remember who was occupying this particular room, but his memory failed him.

Muttered voices and stumbling reached his ears. As the sound of footsteps came closer to the door, America braced himself to meet the perpetrators.

The nation didn't even blink when Greece finally opened the door. Of course it was Greece, he'd been rated the country who did it the most, after all. But then who was his partner?

America pasted on a big salesmen-smile and spoke up. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but my roommate would like to get some sleep. Could you turn down the sound just a notch? That'd be great."

Greece was about say something when they heard a loud thud. The Greek turned around and called into the room. "Everything all right?" his sleepy voice asked.

"Hai, I just fell out of the bed Greece-san."

America froze when he heard that voice.

No. Freaking. Way.

Greece turned to him again and assured him they would try to keep it down before shutting the door in his face.

America was still frozen in place.

There was no way in hell he had just heard Japan's voice. True, China had once claimed to have heard the two, but Japan had told him that definitely hadn't been the case. Why would his friend hide something like this? If he and Greece were in a relationship he'd tell him, right?

America started blushing as the sounds started up again, this time a lot less audible. He began to slowly back away from the room, still not wanting to believe what he had just heard and seen. Tomorrow he'd ask Japan about it.

When America returned to his room, he found Russia sitting up straight in his bed.

"Where did you go?" the Russian inquired.

America shook his head and got back under the covers.

"Believe me dude, you don't even want to know."

* * *

America woke up when he felt someone shaking his body. He looked up into the concerned eyes of Russia.

"Are you all right, Alfred? You were moaning in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?"

America felt his face heating up and pulled the sheets closer to his body. After last night's 'situation' his sub consciousness had been given some… ideas… Which had eventually evolved into a rather vivid dream… But there was absolutely no freakin' way he'd ever tell any of this to Russia.

"Yeah, a nightmare!" he squeaked. "But don't worry about it, it wasn't anything too bad!" He tried to smile, but failed miserably. Oh, why wouldn't that feeling in his southern regions just leave him be?

Without warning, Russia put a hand to America's forehead.

"I think you are having a fever!" he said, eyes closely observing the other.

America flushed even further. He needed some alone time RIGHT NOW.

"Don't worry dude!" He tried to sound as natural as possible. "I'm just gonna take a quick shower, that'll bring down my temperature!"

America wrapped himself in his blankets and dragged them along with him to the bathroom. Russia gave him a puzzled look, but thankfully didn't try to stop him.

As America got to the bathroom and locked the door behind him, he immediately dropped the blankets and looked down. Yep, Florida was definitely craving for attention.

America considered getting himself off, but with Russia being nearby, he didn't want to take any risks.

So, America took off his clothes and hopped into the shower. He turned on the cold water and tried not to cry out as the freezing rays tortured his overheated skin. But he wouldn't cower away until both his mind and body had calmed down. He had to brave the cold water for the greater good of mankind, but more importantly, he'd die of embarrassment it Russia were to hear him.

* * *

At the other side of the door, Russia was wondering what might be wrong with his American friend. Nations only got sick when something in their country was terribly wrong. As far as he knew this was not the case for America.

But then why had his skin felt so hot? And why did he have that embarrassed look on his face, and had he brought his blankets with him to the bathroom as if to hide-

Russia's face heated up the moment the realisation hit him. How could he be so dense? Now that he thought about it, it had been painfully obvious. As a man (an older man than America to boot) he should have known this.

Russia felt so stupid. Stupid and awkward. Good thing he'd realized it now, or he would've probably asked some very painfully mortifying questions once America returned.

Russia buried his face in his hands, cheeks bright red. He was really too naïve for his own good when it came to this kind of stuff.

To his defence, it wasn't like he had much experience. Russia could still clearly remember that one time when Catherine the Great(1) had- Oh God, he didn't even want to think about it. Russia shuddered at the memory and instinctively squeezed his legs together. His first time sure had been a night to remember, only not in a good way. But that was already a long time ago.

And since then… close to nothing. Except maybe for the occasional wet dream, occasional meaning once every ten years or so. And an itty-bitty tiny bit of... helping himself. But that was all.

Thus the reason for him feeling like the stupidest man on earth at the moment.

* * *

When America finally came out of the bathroom, he was shivering like crazy. It was a good thing countries didn't get sick easily, or else he might've gotten that cold-thing England had often caught in the past. He still didn't know the details about that, but it sounded dreadful.

He suddenly felt a heavy coat being draped over his shoulders. America looked up to see the Russian standing next to him.

"We do not want you to get a cold, da?" Russia said. His voice trembled as he spoke. Why was his voice trembling? And why did he have a faint blush on his cheeks? And why wouldn't he look him in the eyes?

America's face coloured a dark shade of red once more. Shit. Russia knew. He fucking _knew_. Well this was awkward.

"Haha, t-thanks big guy!" America nearly shouted before almost running over to his suitcase. Shit shit SHIT. He felt utterly ashamed. This sucked.

While he was getting changed at the speed of light, he glanced over his shoulder. Russia kept looking everywhere but at him. Okay, now it was getting ridiculous.

America zipped up his pants and stomped over to the other, a determined glare fixed in his eyes.

"Look here," he said. Russia looked in his direction, eyes hovering over his head, not daring to meet his gaze.

"We're both full-grown men, right? Stuff like this happens every now and then. Nothing to be ashamed of." He felt pretty darn ashamed having this conversation, but bravely kept going (he definitely wasn't a hypocrite!).

"So we'll just… not talk about it anymore. Forget it ever happened. Think you can do that for me?"

Russia finally looked directly at him. He was still blushing slightly, and America felt his own face growing even darker at the sight of it. They stood there staring at each other, both feeling extremely uncomfortable.

At long last, Russia's body relaxed. He smiled faintly, an apologetic look in his violet orbs.

"Da. I am sorry, I overreacted. We shall just forget about it then?"

America smiled as he relaxed as well. "Exactly. Thanks Ivan. Oh, and also for the coat."

Russia took the coat from him, still not fully at ease. But America was right. They weren't going to let their new friendship be ruined by awkwardness over such a small incident, were they?

America gingerly patted Russia on the elbow. The tall nation inwardly jumped at the sudden touch, but he didn't show it.

"Let's just have fun today, all right? We're here for Feli and Lovino after all! Come on big guy, let's go get some breakfast."

* * *

America was putting bacon and scrambled eggs on his plate. Russia had gone off to say hi to the Baltics, and the American was happy he got a little time to himself. Sure they were friends now, but that didn't mean he wanted to be with him 24/7. Especially since the ‘incident’ that morning.

He spotted Japan sitting alone at a table and figured now was his best chance to go have a talk with the Asian nation. America walked over to his table.

"Hey Kiku! Mind if I join ya?" America asked.

Japan jumped at the sudden question, but smiled and nodded when he saw who it was. America put down his plate and pulled back a chair. Japan was eating some sort of stuffed bread rolls.

"Did you sleep well, Alfred-kun?" Japan asked in his gentle voice.

America raised an eyebrow at the question. Apparently Japan didn't know it had been him visiting last night. Time to enlighten him.

"Well, I was sleeping well until a certain someone and his boyfriend decided to get busy…"

He looked at Japan, who frowned deeply.

"Oh? I am very sorry to hear that, Alfred-kun."

All right, apparently he was still playing dumb. Time for the direct approach.

"Come on Kiku, just fess up already. I couldn't sleep because you and Greece were keeping me up! What's that about anyways?"

Japan paled considerably. "I do not know what you are talking about."

America raised his other eyebrow. "Seriously dude? I even came to your room to ask you two to be more quiet."

Japan had grabbed his hair and was now pulling frantically at it. "N-no… It was a dream… It was just a dream!"

America gaped in awe at the reaction of his friend.

"Dude, calm down! Fine, if you don't want to admit it, it never happened!"

Japan seemed to relax more at his words. Someone was definitely in denial. America wondered why though. Greece wasn't a bad guy after all, at least as far as he knew. Oh well.

They talked about less serious things while finishing their breakfast, Japan informing him of a new game his country had developed, and America telling a story of this one time he had eaten a thirty foot-tall ice cream. Japan found his story very entertaining, but didn't seem to believe him at all for some reason or other.

Meanwhile, Russia was sitting at a table with the Baltic Trio. He was talking with Lithuania while Estonia tried to keep Latvia from saying anything that would make Russia mad.

"So how is Belarus right now?" the Russian asked.

"Oh! She's doing quite well! She would have loved to come to the party, but she had too much work to do."

"I see." Russia was actually very happy his little sister wasn't here. It would have been rather stressful with her clinging to him all the time.

"And how are you two doing?" Russia directed these words at the other two Baltics, who nearly fell out of their chairs.

"We are doing just fine!" Estonia quickly said. He tried to keep Latvia from adding anything, but it was too late.

"I am doing a lot better now that I don't live with you anymore…"

Lithuania and Estonia's faces went white with pure horror. They slowly turned to the Russian, very afraid of what his reaction would be. They did not expect the sadness that had fallen over his features.

"Oh…"

The trio didn’t know how to react to this, so they just kept silent for the rest of the meal, secretly sneaking glances at the nation. They had never seen Russia this depressed before.

Before, Russia would have immediately punished Latvia for his words. But with the way he had been feeling lately, his defences had dropped enough for Latvia's words to actually get to him. The Baltics, naturally, didn't know of this. Lithuania had a slight suspicion, but kept his thoughts to himself.

When most of the nations had finished eating, the Vargas brothers rose from their seats.

"Ve~ Good morning everybody! I hope you have all slept well. Today we have planned for all of you to go sightseeing in small groups. We are in Firenze after all!"

"And in the afternoon you are free to sit on your fat butts," Romano added, after which Veneziano made him go through one of his hug-therapies in a desperate attempt to make his fratello less of a potty-mouth.

America and Russia teamed up with England and France. England was happy about this, France not so much. Especially since Russia kept throwing dark looks in his general direction, which were even harsher in order to cover up his real emotions.

And so the second day of the birthday party had begun. Oh joy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) About the part with Catherine the Great, there is an awesome fanfiction written on fanfiction.net that you guys should all read. If you’d like to read it, you can look up the story Measuring Up by ProcrastinatingPalindrome. Basically, Catherine the Great was Russia's ruler at one time, and she was the person he lost his virginity to in both my story and the one of ProcrastinatingPalindrome.
> 
> Words:  
> Firenze = Florence


	9. One crazy night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nations dance, Prussia gets drunk, and Russia has a little problem with his heart.

America's little group was gathered at the Piazza del Duomo. America and England had been catching up, while a sour (and still slightly nervous) France and a depressed Russia followed them around. The weather was nice, and the big square was crowded.

While America laughed with one of his own jokes, he glanced over his shoulder. Even the mostly oblivious-to-the-atmosphere American had noticed something being wrong with their Russian companion. He wanted to talk to him, but didn't know if Russia would open up with England and France being there as well.

France saw him looking and raised an eyebrow. America gestured at Russia. France got the hint.

"Angleterre, I want to go to the top of the Duomo! Come with me!" France grabbed England's arm and began dragging him towards the enormous building in front of them.

"Hey, not so fast you bloody frog!" England looked back at America.

"Don't worry dude, we'll be waiting right here!" America waved at him.

England sighed and stopped struggling.

America watched the two leave before looking back up at Russia. The nation hadn't even noticed they had stopped walking. Something was definitely bothering him.

America lightly bumped his elbow against Russia's arm. The Russian jumped at the sudden touch, and looked around. He only now saw where they were, and that they were by themselves. He looked at the younger nation, eyes full of questions.

"Come on big guy. Let's go eat some ice cream. Gelato is the best!"

* * *

They were seated at a table at one of the Gelateria. America studied the Russian, wondering how best to start a conversation. He'd never seen Russia like this before. He knew Russia as being happy, creepy, annoying, and there was this one time during the Cold War where he'd gotten all-out pissed. But sad? America had never encountered a sad Russia.

"…What's on your mind?" He had to get the guy talking somehow.

Russia looked at him, and it suddenly struck America how much older the other was. He wasn't even sure if he could begin to comprehend Russia's feelings, but he had to try. His heart hurt too much seeing the guy like this.

When Russia stayed quiet, America put a hand under his chin to force his gaze up. The Russian reluctantly looked him in the eyes.

"Just tell me. You'll feel better afterwards."

After a short staring contest, the Slavic nation closed his eyes and sighed. "It is nothing much, really," he finally spoke.

"Nothing much my ass. If it was you wouldn't be all down like this."

When Russia tried to free his head from the American's grasp, America made use of the strongest weapon in his arsenal: the puppy eyes.

"Please tell me? Pretty please with sugar on top?" he asked, trying to sound as soothing and not-pushy as possible.

Russia felt an unknown emotion travelling through his body at the sight of it. America was unbearably cute at that moment.

He pushed those thoughts away and smiled at his friend, the tension disappearing from his features.

"Thank you, Fedya."

America curiously tilted his head. "Fedya?"

Russia chuckled. "A nickname. It is cute, da?"

America puffed his cheeks. "I'm not cute, dammit!"

Russia's giggling increased as the other crossed his arms and started pouting. The tall nation gave him a light pinch in his left cheek.

"Ow!" America yelped, acting as if he'd just gotten his arm broken. America bent over the table to return the favour, but Russia was feeling playful now and started tickling the younger nation. His bad mood was already long forgotten.

America tried to slap Russia's hands away while he kept laughing uncontrollably.

"S-stop i-it!" he tittered.

Russia was laughing as well. A real good kind of laughing. He was truly having fun.

They were interrupted by a "Ohonhonhonhon!"

Russia stopped his assault and America re-adjusted Texas and his jacket. France was smirking at the scene, but England looked beyond irritated.

"Sorry for interrupting." His voice was dripping with disapproval.

"No prob, Iggy! So how was the view?"

Russia had gone back to his usual smiling self while France described the magnificent sight of Florence from the top of the tower. The ashen blond saw that England was glaring daggers at him. He wondered why? France noticed as well, and quickly tried to distract him.

"Angleterre, let us go see le David!"

On one hand he didn't want England to know he was jealous, that would make it harder for France to try and conquer him. But on the other hand, if England thought he had to be jealous of Russia, then maybe he would give up on America?

It still was a gamble, one France wasn't willing to take. He simply wanted the Englishman all to himself. His patience was running out.

* * *

France was in a foul mood. They had been kicked out of the Galleria dell'Accademia because America had not been able to resist touching one of the statues. England was lecturing him, and Russia was smiling away as if nothing could bring him down today. France still felt rather uncomfortable around the Russian, but since he hadn't done anything yet the Frenchman tried to relax.

He focussed his thoughts on the Brit walking next to him. He studied his cat-like green eyes, followed the curve of his nose to his thick eyebrows and messy blond hair. He couldn't get enough of him.

France remembered how hard last night had been. How tantalizingly close to his loved one, yet unable to reach out and touch. He couldn't decide whether sharing a room with him was heaven or hell.

Yes, he and England had done it before. But they had made a silent pact only to go there when England was drunk, so he could at least pretend he didn't remember the next morning. But to England those encounters meant nothing. It was only France who wanted to be loved.

France let his eyes slide over the Brit's body, mentally undressing him. Oh, what he wouldn't give to rip his clothes off right now, to roughly push him down and spread his legs, thrusting into him again and again-

"What are you looking at?"

France snapped out of his fantasies, and noticed the Englishman staring at him. He quickly wiped away a small trail of drool that had spilled from his mouth.

"I was only thinking about that cute blond girl who threw us out of the museum, Ohonhonhon~"

England rolled his eyes and returned his attention to America. France felt like he had missed his chance, but he knew he couldn't just say those things out loud. It was one thing being a pervert, but something completely different being a pervert in love. For the country of love he was pretty bad at confessing his feelings.

So far, his tactics of taking up all of England's time hadn't worked at all. He had to think of something else.

* * *

After a day of sight-seeing and another delicious buffet, the nations had decided to have a bit of a party in the dining room. The music was turned up, they found someone to act as a bartender, the lights were turned low and the mood was just about right.

Spain and a drunk Romano were singing karaoke, Northern Italy was dancing with a blushing Germany, someone had found Turkey and the Netherlands making out in a closet somewhere, Poland was eating pocky with everyone he encountered… All in all, the nations were partying like there was no tomorrow.

America was sitting at the bar, downing a glass of whiskey. He scanned the dance floor. Maybe he'd go stretch his legs as well…

"Privet, Fedya."

"Don't call me that," America said, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. However, he failed to hide a smile. That nickname _did_ have a nice ring to it.

"Enjoying yourself?" America asked.

"Da, very much."

At that moment, the music changed into something slower. America's eyes went wide as he recognized the tune. He _had_ to dance to that song, asap. But he could not do it alone.

America spun around and grabbed Russia's arm.

"Come. Dance. Now."

Russia stammered as he was pulled to the dance floor.

"N-Nyet, I do not want to-"

"You and me are going to dance right now," America cut him off. His tone left no room for objections.

Russia planted his feet to the ground, refusing to move a muscle. America looked around impatiently, wondering why they weren't moving to the music yet. His body was craving for it, his mind would explode if he didn't dance to this song!

"Please?" he asked, pulling out his puppy eyes again.

Russia was blushing a dark red, not knowing what to do.

' _Cute_ ,' a small part of America's mind thought. He paid no attention to it. He was focussed on dancing.

Russia hid his face and gave a small nod. America grinned and pulled the tall nation close.

"Just enjoy yourself!" he shouted, as he began moving to the rhythm of the music. Russia reluctantly followed his lead, feeling incredibly embarrassed. He prayed nobody was looking at them.

America tried to spin him around, but failed completely, being shorter and Russia not wanting to perform the act.

"Come on, dude! You have to feel the music!" America whined.

Russia wanted to retaliate, but suddenly the younger got incredibly close.

"You have to feel it in your heart," he whispered, putting a hand on Russia's chest.

Russia's heart skipped a beat.

He froze as he heard a wet thud. He didn't have to look down to know what had happened. The horror on America's face said it all.

"D-Dude, your…"

Russia hummed, face as red as a tomato. This was utterly horrifying.

His heart had fallen out once again.

He didn't really know why it happened, and therefore could never see it coming.

America had to be disgusted by him. He just knew it.

What he didn't expect was the younger nation quickly scooping up his heart, holding it close to his chest, and pulling him away from the dance floor. America exited the room and skidded into the bathroom, followed by a slightly dazed Russian. Once he had made sure nobody was there, he turned towards the taller nation.

"So, um… How do we… You know, p-put it back in?"

Russia was still ashamed, but also relieved the American hadn't run away from him.

"D-da… Let me do it…"

Russia began taking off his coat and shirt. America waited for him to finish undressing, not quite sure if he should put down the still beating heart or keep holding onto it. If his heart had fallen out, he would most likely be dead as dust. He faintly remembered this happening before at one of their meetings, but the memory was vague and blurry.

He slightly jumped when Russia put out his hand, but soon got the idea and gave the heart back to its owner. After that he looked down, trying to avoid the display in front of him. But his curiosity was bigger than his disgust.

America looked up just in time to see Russia move his heart towards a gaping hole in his chest. America had to do his best not to run into the nearest stall and puke out his stomach's contents. But something kept him rooted to the spot, unable to look away. Probably pure fascination.

As soon as the heart was placed back in its rightful place, the skin around it closed up. America still couldn't look away, but now for a different reason. As he was standing there, he couldn't help but notice the rest of Russia's naked torso. Wow. The countries had always made jokes of the Russian being fat, but now he could see that was not true in the slightest. The guy had some muscles! Not the kind one gets from working out, but natural ones you gained through manual labour. His pale skin only accented the curves of his sturdy and very hot body.

America felt his face heating up. What. The. Hell. Was he thinking about. He was too shocked by the visual images his mind was bombarding him with to notice the Russian dressing up again. Was his unconsciousness still affected by the events of last night?

America was confused, and Russia was embarrassed. Both of their faces were coloured a crimson red. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

France had successfully brought England to his bed. The Englishman had begun downing drinks rapidly after he saw his America dancing together with the Russian. After listening to his whining, France had finally been able to cut the man off and drag him to their room.

France couldn't keep his eyes off the nearly unconscious nation. His mind was working overtime.

He desperately wanted to take advantage of the situation.

Surely a little wouldn't hurt, right?

* * *

Canada was dragging a very drunk Prussia back to their shared room. He had seen more than he wanted tonight. Romano and Spain grinding against each other, Lithuania declaring his love to a potted fern, Denmark streaking, Romania beating someone to a pulp because the guy had asked him if vampires really did sparkle… Canada sighed, feeling exhausted.

It didn't help that Prussia was giggling like a demented snake.

"Kesesesesesesesesesesese! Wererwe goin', Birrrrrrrrrrrrdie?"

"I'm bringing you to bed, Gil."

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeh, but'm not sleeeeeeeeeepy yet!"

Canada hushed him and unlocked the door. He dropped Prussia on the bed and turned around to close the door. However, he felt two arms being wrapped around his middle.

"Let go, I have to close the door," Canada mumbled, trying to dislodge the albino. Prussia only clung to him harder, eventually causing the Canadian to topple over. He yelped as he fell to the floor.

"Dammit, Gilbert!" he yelled, which still sounded more like a loud whisper.

Canada rolled onto his back and tried to get up, but was suddenly pinned down. He looked up into two blood red eyes.

"G-Gilbert?" he asked, voice shaky.

Prussia didn't say a word as he lowered his face and passionately captured Canada's lips.

At first, Canada tried to get the man off of him, but soon he felt his resistance weaken. The kiss just felt sooooooooo good. The way he forced his tongue in his mouth, ravishing the inside. How he moved his lips, forceful yet surprisingly gentle. He tasted of beer and, for some reason, anchovies.

Canada soon lost himself in the kiss, eyes fluttering close. He hadn't felt like this in a long, long time. It didn't last nearly as long as he would've liked it to.

But when Prussia broke away, and he gasped for breath, he felt the other's body grow heavier. Canada opened his eyes and found the Prussian already fast asleep.

Now what was he going to do with this predicament?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Gelateria: Place that sells gelato (Italian ice cream)


	10. War and Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Russia and America go stargazing, France does something naughty.

America was lying in his bed. He couldn't sleep, for several reasons.

He had held Russia's heart in his hands.

He had seen Russia's naked torso.

He could still freshly remember that morning.

He had stared at Russia's toned body.

He had seen Japan and Greece kissing, which meant his friend had lied to him.

But all of that didn't matter, because for a moment he had thought RUSSIA WAS HOT.

America had every right to be confused. Stupid sexy Russian… NO, he wasn't going to think about Russia, dammit!

His roommate wasn't sleeping either, but he had other thoughts to keep him busy. He was still embarrassed about his heart popping out. And happy America didn't seem all that weirded-out about it. But mostly embarrassed.

America decided right then and there he needed a distraction. He opened his eyes and they fell upon the window, which gave him an idea.

"…Hey, Ivan, you awake?" Russia answered with a soft "da.”

America sat up in his bed and faced the ashen blond.

"Feel like going outside for a while?"

Russia rolled over to look at the younger nation. "Where to?" he asked.

America slipped out of his bed and walked over to the other.

"Just get up, I'll show you."

As Russia threw back the covers, curious to the other's intentions, America pulled on a coat. After dressing up, Russia found himself being pulled along by an eager young American. He really reminded Russia of a kid sometimes.

America brought him to the roof and walked over to the middle part of it, where he promptly sat down. He waved at the Russian, beckoning for him to come closer and sit down as well. Once he did just that, America pointed up at the sky.

"Enjoy the view buddy. I know there are a lot less stars because we're in the middle of the city, but it's still nice, ain't it?"

Russia quietly observed one of Mother Nature's biggest artworks. America had once again succeeded in calming him down, making him forget about the emotions he was most uncomfortable with. Russia smiled.

"It's kinda like television, you know?" America said in a hushed voice. "Only difference is there's no channels. But it does make you feel… I dunno. Small, I guess?"

Russia nodded. He understood the feeling. Even though both him and America were two of the biggest nations on earth, they would never be as big as the sky surrounding them. They were just tiny spots in the entirety of the universe. It could make you feel anxious, but it could also fill you with wonder and a sense of peacefulness.

"Tell me something about yourself." America's voice was but a mere whisper, not wanting to disturb the mood.

"What do you want to know?" Russia whispered back.

"Dunno, something like, a secret maybe? Here, I'll tell you one of myself."

Russia waited patiently as America searched through his memories, trying to find a secret that he could tell the Russian.

"Ah! I know." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "…I am afraid of weighing scales."

Russia's interest was piqued. "Afraid of weighing scales?" he asked.

"Well, you know, not exactly weighing scales…"

Russia gasped when he understood the hidden meaning of those words. He turned towards the American. "Amerika. You must know that you are not fat, da? The others just like to tease."

America slowly turned around. The starlight was reflected in the taller nation's eyes. "You promise?" he asked, voice pleading. For a superpower he had really bad self-esteem regarding his weight.

"Da, I promise."

America smiled, and looked back up. "Now tell me one of your secrets."

Russia thought for a moment, and then began to blush. He hid his face in his scarf.

' _Cute_ ,' America absentmindedly thought once again.

"My dream… It is to live in a warm place with a lot of sunflowers…" He had only told this to Lithuania. That dream was one of his biggest treasures.

"That's a nice dream." America's voice sounded warm and at ease.

Russia looked at him shyly. "You think so?"

"Yeah, definitely! Hey, there is a greenhouse with flowers over at my place in California, maybe you could come check it out some time?" he blurted out.

"Is that a real offer?" Russia asked, not wanting to excite himself over false statements.

"Yeah, big guy. I promise I'll take you to a place with lots of sunflowers."

Russia grinned enthusiastically. "Spasiba, Fedya. I would like that very much."

They went silent for a while after this. Russia felt warm and happy, and America only regretted the impulsive offer the tiniest of bits. He wouldn't mind Russia coming to visit him at all. In fact, he was rather looking forward to it.

He perked up when he saw something shooting across the night sky.

"Hey, did you see that? A shooting star! Come on, Ivan, we gotta make a wish!"

America immediately shut his eyes, folded his hands and started wishing, focussing his entire being on the star. Russia stared at him sceptically, but then decided to give it a try. He closed his eyes and started wishing as well.

_'I wish… I wish to be happy. Truly happy_.' He blushed a little at the childish request, glad America couldn't read his thoughts.

"All right, wish is done!" America laughed excitedly.

"What did you wish for?" Russia asked, curious.

"Nuh uh! I'm not gonna tell you, that'll break the magic of the star!"

The Russian slightly tilted his head and tried to copy America's famous puppy eyes. It seemed to work, because the American began blushing and stammered out his wish. "I was just wishing for a happy ending!"

Russia thought it over a bit before carefully wording his response. "…Why wish for a happy ending? Would you not rather have a happy life instead?"

The younger nation paused. Huh. That was some serious thought for the brain.

But the other was right. Who would want an ending, if you could just keep on living forever? They were nations after all; they didn't die as easily as human beings. If America would have to wait with finding happiness until his ending, he might have to wait a looooooooooong time.

America smirked. "I guess you're right, big guy. A happy life then. Now tell me what you wished for!"

Russia looked back up at the stars, his violet eyes mellow. "I wished for another bottle of vodka. Mine is almost empty."

America could tell the Slavic nation was lying, but he decided not to keep pushing. The night was too beautiful to nag and be an annoying want-to-know-it-all. He'd ask him later.

America let himself slump against Russia's shoulder, closing his eyes in contentment. The older nation put an arm around his companion. The strange feeling had filled his body and soul once again. He had no idea what it was, but it was a rather pleasant feeling. It made Russia feel jolly and gay (using the old-fashioned meaning of the word).

He kept sitting there and staring at the stars, feeling the younger nation fall asleep at his side.

If this was happiness, he definitely did not want for it to end.

* * *

In another room, the mood was quite different. The Frenchman was working out his plans of 'taking advantage of the nearly comatose Englishman with whom he was in love'.

France caressed England's hair as he positioned himself. He only felt a sliver of guilt at taking advantage of a more or less unconscious man, but it was largely outnumbered by the pure desire that filled his entire being.

France had undone the buttons on England's shirt and began making his way down, leaving a trail of kisses and licks. His right hand was used as a support to keep himself steady, while his left hand was rubbing the nation's crotch. He felt England stir beneath him, and sped up his movements.

His own erection was throbbing painfully in his tight pants as he felt England's member starting to harden. When a soft moan escaped the nation's lips, France's vision was completely clouded over with lust.

He pulled down England's pants, revealing the bulge in his underwear (which had the pattern of the British flag, naughty boy). France traced the outline of England's cock, which was now almost fully erect.

England's breathing had sped up considerably. Without hesitation, France pulled down the boxers and took England's full length in his mouth.

England woke up as pleasure set his body on fire. His eyes instantly fluttered back close, a loud moan leaving his mouth. Was he in heaven, or was this another one of his erotic dreams? He decided upon the latter as he felt a tongue tease the tip of his member. This was too good to be real.

His eyes shot open when he heard a moan that wasn't his. This wasn't a dream. This was _actually_ happening.

England looked down at the sight of France giving him a blowjob.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you bl-" England gasped as France let his tongue travel up and down the entire length of his cock, following the vein on the bottom side. He shuddered when he felt a familiar warmth pooling in his abdomen.

The urge to push the Frenchman away and the want for release were fighting for the upper hand. When France hummed, sending vibrations down his arousal to deepen the pleasure, the decision was quickly made. He was just too tantalizingly close.

"A-ah…" England gripped France's hair tight with one hand and buried the nails of the other in the mattress. France began moving even faster when he felt the encouragement, sucking as if his life depended on it.

After one final lick over his oversensitive tip, England reached his limit. He arched his back and squeezed his eyes shut. He could see stars on the inside of his eyelids as his mind went blank.

France swallowed all of his cum without batting an eye, having experience in these sort of activities. He was glad to have made England feel so good. But his own hunger wasn't satisfied yet.

While England lay there being a panting mess, France pulled a bottle of lubricant from his pocket and applied it to his fingers.

England did not approve of that sound in the slightest.

"Francis. Stop." He said this in a matter-of-fact voice. France ignored him and continued with what he was doing, pulling England's legs apart. England tried to move his legs back, but they were being squished under the Frenchman's body.

"I mean it. We are NOT doing this tonight."

England tried to push the Frenchman away, but the normally weak nation now had an unexpected amount of strength to help him keep his prey at bay.

When France forced his finger in, England began to curse.

"Goddammit, you bloody bastard! I fucking told you to stop! Sod off!"

France didn't respond. He just kept moving at a steady pace, pinning England to the bed with his unoccupied arm. England balled his hands to fists and tried to free himself again, but to no avail. Finally, when the French nation tried to add a second finger, the Englishman exploded.

"Stop it, you asshole! I hate you! If you don't get that fucking finger out of me I'll break your bones!" He screamed as loud as he could muster, tensing every muscle in his body and successfully throwing off his attacker.

That was it. France had run out of patience. And now he snapped.

"Merde! What makes Alfred so much better than me?!"

England was astonished at the sudden outburst. He was supposed to be angry here, not his assaulter. France had extracted his fingers and was sitting at the foot of the bed, now looking straight at him. His eyes were filled with tears, _real_ tears, not the kind used for dramatic effect.

"…Francis?" England asked in a hoarse voice. He had known the man for the longest of times, but this was the first time he had seen him like that. Yes, he had often gone too far and then England would shout at him, but he'd never started crying afterwards.

"Tu es un imbécile!" France hiccupped.

England was still dumbfounded.

"W-what do you mean? What does America have to do with this?" England cautiously asked. He was really at a loss here, anger and confusion making a distorted mess in his head.

"You love him you fool!"

France had had enough of it all. He didn't care anymore if this would ruin all of his chances. The fool had to realize how he felt. France was dead-tired of pretending.

"Angleterre, je t'aime," he whispered. If things were ruined either way, he might as well spill his biggest secret to the Brit.

England didn't say a word. His mind displayed nothing but a white screen, filled with question marks. If this were to continue any longer, he was going to have a complete system failure.

He abruptly stood up and went to the bathroom. France watched him leave, never cutting through the silence himself. All he could do now was wait for the Englishman's reaction.

After about half an hour, England walked back into the room.

"I am going to bed," he merely stated, before doing just that.

France wondered what was going through his mind, but kept quiet.

He didn't want to go to sleep that night, fearing what the morning would bring.

* * *

France was startled by the stirring of his roommate. England slowly stretched his arms as he began sitting up, leisurely like a cat. France held his breath, desperately wanting to be Canada at that moment so he could just vanish into thin air.

But he had to face England. If he didn't do it now, he never would.

The moment the Brit laid eyes on him, his frown increased. But he didn't utter a single word. Neither did he get angry. England didn't speak a word to him all morning. He just skipped breakfast and finished packing up. Only when he was about to leave, did France call for him.

England turned to look at him, expression unreadable.

"I need time to think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Tu es un imbécile : You are an idiot


	11. Brother knows best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and Canada have a brotherly conversation

America was awoken from his sleep at around five in the morning, because of a wildly thrashing Russian. He quickly shoved Texas onto his nose and flicked on the lights.

Russia was asleep, but he kept moaning and flailing his arms, and he had a very disturbed expression on his face. He was probably having another one of those nightmares. He seemed to have them a lot.

"Russia, it's all right! Calm down, buddy!" He tried to lightly shake the nation awake while avoiding being hit by his swinging arms. It didn't work; Russia only looked more distressed. Time to change methods.

Without actually planning out what he was going to do, America pinned down Russia's arms and started singing. It was a lullaby England had sung for him as a kid, every time America himself would have bad dreams. Well, at least every time the Brit would be around to notice him having a nightmare. It spoke of vast oceans, and finding your way home even when you think all hope is lost of ever seeing the shore again.

America was surprised he still knew the lyrics so well. It had been a very long time since he'd last heard it himself. The nation had a little trouble finding the right tone, but once he got into the spirit of things he just lost himself in the memories.

When he reached the line about being reunited with your family, his voice faltered and died down. America looked around dizzily, seeming to have forgotten where he was and who he was with.

It appeared to have worked. America didn't consider himself the best singer around, but his voice had calmed down the Russian enough for him to return to a tranquil sleep. When his breathing slowed down enough, America released his arms. He didn't get up to return to bed immediately.

Russia looked so much more serene now than the last time he'd had the chance to study his face up close. Had something happened over the past few days to make this change possible? Was it because of him? Had his plan worked, and was Russia not feeling lonely anymore?

Could it even still be called a plan? America had no answer to that question.

He simply placed a light goodnight kiss on the Russian's cheek (even though it was already early morning) and went back to sleep, ignoring all of the confusing thoughts and painful recollections of his childhood that kept tumbling through his mind.

The remaining time before waking up, Russia dreamt of a warm golden sun and blue skies that weren't exactly the colour of the sky.

* * *

When America woke up for the second time, two big violet eyes were looking down at him from an uncomfortably close distance.

"Gah!" The young nation instinctively tried to move back, which resulted in his head hitting the headboard. Russia giggled delightfully at the display of an American spitting out every profanity he knew.

"Dobroe utro Fedya! Did you sleep well?"

America rubbed the sore spot on his head. "Yeah, sure…" Then he remembered last night. "But I guess you didn't, huh?"

Russia looked genuinely surprised at the remark. He tried to remember what he had dreamt about that night, but he could only recall waking up with an amazingly good mood that just kept getting better.

"I cannot recall having slept badly. Why, did I do something?"

"Nah, forget about it." If Russia had no memories of his nightmare, it was better not to remind him of it.

"Let's just go get some food."

* * *

Canada woke up to the sound of a running shower and Prussia singing. He had a surprisingly good singing voice.

He looked around, still dazed by sleepiness. For a moment he didn't know where he was, but then the events of the past few days all came back to him.

The birthday party of the Italian brothers. Being invited to stay at a hotel in Florence for three days. America apparently being friends with Russia, and the tensions between France and England. Dinner. Sightseeing. Every single nation getting drunk beyond their minds. Kissing Prussia.

Kissing Prussia. He had kissed Prussia. As in locking lips together, the big K-word, being completely swept away by the feeling of tongues brushing-

Canada went beet red when he realized just what exactly he was thinking about. Kissing him was one thing, but still thinking about it the morning after? Now that was just dangerous.

Because after all, Prussia didn't love him. He was in love with someone else.

True, he had never said so himself, but Canada wasn't stupid. Ignored, yes, but not dumb in the slightest. He had noticed the subtle hints in his behaviour over the years, which were those of a man in love.

Canada tried to clear his mind as he watched Gilbird fly around the light bulb that was hanging from the ceiling. It had been just his luck, being appointed to a room that needed maintenance. On the other hand Prussia had been there to laugh it off and lift his spirits.

What _did_ he feel for the guy? Even though he didn't want to admit it, there was definitely something there. Why else would he still remember last night so vividly, would his lips yearn to be touched once more?

But it was wrong. Prussia loved another person. Canada had nothing to do with his love life.

...Was that the truth? After all, Prussia breaking down in tears was enough proof he was not happy. Maybe Canada could help him?

No, that was a very selfish thing to think.

Even so, it sparked some hope. For a nation who was ignored most of the time, a possibility like this could not be ignored, even if it could hardly be considered possible at all.

Canada's breath caught when he heard the shower being turned off. His heart sped up and adrenaline raced through his body. Prussia would come out of that door in just a few moments, and then he would have to face him. Any minute now…

And there he was. The Prussian had a towel draped nonchalantly over his slender hips, and the Iron Cross he always wore was lying on his bare chest. His white hair was soaking wet, and his crimson eyes were as piercing as ever.

"Guten Morgen, Birdie!" he said, grinning widely.

"M-morning…" Canada was still a nervous wreck. He hadn't mentioned anything about last night yet…

"Did you sleep well?" the Prussian asked, as he walked over to his bag to grab some clean clothes.

"Yeah, you?"

He still hadn't said it.

"I slept awesomely well!" the Prussian cackled, energetic as ever.

Canada felt his hope deflate. Perhaps Prussia didn't even remember last night. He had been really drunk…

Canada hung his head, trying to keep tears from flooding his eyes. This was exactly why he didn't want to get his hopes up. It was like Alfred and his stupid movies; he was just a side-character. His happiness didn't count. He was only supposed to be a listening ear for others to depend on. And it sucked pretty hard.

Maybe it was for the best. He was thinking too much of it all; it was just one measly little kiss. Even if that thought pained him.

But then, out of nowhere, he felt a light peck on his right cheek. His head shot up, looking into concerned red eyes.

"Don't cry, Birdie. What is there to be sad about when ze awesome Prussia is around?"

Canada laughed softly, afraid his voice would tremble if he were to turn up the volume.

Prussia gently placed a hand on the side of his head.

"Do you perhaps regret it?"

"R-regret it?" Canada asked in a tiny voice. Could he really be talking about-

Prussia kissed him once more. This kiss was a lot less passionate than the one before, yet so much sweeter and better. When the albino broke away, he looked expectantly at his partner, waiting for a reaction.

Canada was blushing slightly. He slowly lifted up a hand, and treaded his fingers through wet locks.

"Kiss me Gilbert," he murmured. Prussia immediately complied.

After a while, when they both had to break away for air, Canada remembered his initial anxiety. When the Prussian leant in for the third time, he put a hand to his pale chest to stop him.

"What does this mean to you?" the Canadian asked. He wasn't the type to do these kind of things on a whim. He definitely had some feelings for Prussia and he didn't want to be toyed with.

When he saw the nation's pleasant smile, his doubts flew right out the window.

"I am not just fooling around, if that is what's troubling you. Matthew, you are my little bird. I would never want to hurt you." After his words they resumed their activity.

It was not love they felt. Not yet, at least. Prussia was still heartbroken over Austria. Canada wasn't used to being given a lot of attention and had a low self-esteem from always standing in his brother's shadow, so it would take him some time to fully open up. He also wasn't the type to simply jump on the love train and ride off into a happily ever after without a second thought.

But at that moment, both of them were just content being in each other's company. They only cared about the Present, the Now. And the present felt very good. They would just have to wait and see what the future had in store for them, whether it involved happiness or even more heartbreak.

Right now, they simply didn't care.

* * *

America and Russia were having breakfast at the same table as Belgium, Switzerland and the Netherlands. It was either that or sharing a table with Spain and Romano, which would be funny to watch but still exhausting so early in the morning (even though it was already a quarter to ten).

Switzerland was watching Russia warily, not fully trusting the large nation who also had a history of suddenly getting violent. Belgium and the Netherlands were having some sort of discussion in Dutch, and America simply focussed on his food, not understanding a thing they were saying.

"Mogens, wat hoor ik over jou en Sadik?" Belgium gossiped.

"Zwijg, Emma!" the Netherlands groaned, blushing heavily (which was very unlike him, and therefore all the more cute).

America glanced around the room, and noticed a few people missing. Prussia, England, France, and that one dude that looked like him (what was his name again?) were nowhere to be found.

He put down his knife and fork and stood up.

"What's wrong Alfred?" Belgium asked. America not finishing his food was very suspicious.

"I just remembered I still have something to do. Excuse me." He dashed out of the room, leaving behind some very perplexed nations.

"What do you guys think is wrong?" Belgium asked the others.

Switzerland and the Netherlands had no idea. All three looked at Russia, but the guy still had his eyes glued to the door which America had used a few seconds earlier to leave the room. What _was_ wrong with him? Russia excused himself as well and decided to follow him. He wasn't any desirable company anyway now that the American had left their middle.

"Well that was weird," the Netherlands said dryly.

"As long as they don't cause any trouble," Switzerland shrugged, before taking another bite of his sugar-coated croissant with expensive cheese – if it was free, then who was he do deny such delicacies?

Two floors higher, America was standing in front of England and France's room. He knocked three times and waited for a response. He could hear some stumbling inside, a thud, and a series of curses. France opened the door.

He looked dreadful. Which was very odd for a nation who valued his looks so much. His hair was all messy, he had bags under his eyes, and he was holding a half-full wine bottle in his hand (America wasn't the half-empty kind of person).

"Oh um… Sorry to disturb, but is Arthur here?" America asked, not sure how to react to seeing France in this state.

The Frenchman sighed and took another swig from his bottle. "Angleterre has already left."

Huh? Now that was just plain ol' weird. He didn't even have breakfast yet!

France smiled painfully. "Je sais."

Oh, he had accidently spoken out loud again.

"Dude, English please. Do you know why he left?"

The crooked smile vanished instantly. "It is a long story. One I do not feel like telling, so please do not bother asking. But I suppose you of all people should be informed, so you can ask Mathieu."

"Canada?" America asked, momentarily remembering the name of his brother.

"Oui. He should know what you are talking about. He is a lot more clever than people give him credit for, I believe that is the expression. But please," he grabbed America's arm, his breath reeking of alcohol, "do not hate me for it."

With that, he slammed the door shut. America simply stood there, dumbfounded.

What the hell was going on here?

"Alfred?" America looked over his shoulder and saw Russia standing right behind him. America didn't even jump, having grown a little more accustomed to the Slavic nation just showing up out of nowhere.

"…I have to pay a visit to my brother." He thought it over a bit before continuing. "You can start packing up, I won't be long."

If this was going to be a serious conversation, he'd rather spend it alone with his sibling.

* * *

America knocked on the Canadian's door. He wanted some answers about France and England, and he wanted them right now.

After a few moments of waiting and some more knocking, a very ruffled Canada opened the door. He looked as if he had quickly put on any clothes he could find; his shirt was on backwards and inside out, and his zipper was still down.

"Um…" America said dryly as he pointed at Canada's pants. The Canadian let out a yelp and quickly pulled his zipper up.

"Al, I wasn't expecting you! Is something the matter?" The Canadian tried and failed to hide his blush and messy hair.

"I wanted to talk to you in private. Can I come in?"

Canada looked strangely embarrassed.

"Gilbert is still here…"

"Well, can't he go on a walk or something?" America asked, arms folded. He was not in a patient mood.

Suddenly the door opened further to reveal Prussia, dressed only in a towel.

"I'm not really dressed for a walk," Prussia said. He looked at America with a frown on his face, as if upset he were there.

"That's fine, we'll go then. Come on Mattie."

The Prussian tried to keep him from leaving, but Canada laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be back as fast as possible," he tried to reassure him.

Prussia's frown deepened for a moment, but it quickly changed to a smirk. He leant closer to Canada, and whispered in his ear: "When you get back, your vital regions are mine." After this he closed the door with a grin, leaving behind a blushing Canadian and a scowling American.

America took Canada to the end of the hall. As soon as they had turned the corner, he pushed his brother against the wall.

"What the hell is going on between you and Prussia?!"

The Canadian's face went red as a tomato. "I-we, it's not-"

America covered his mouth with his hand to cut off his stuttering.

"You know what, we'll go to my room. I'll ask Russia to leave us alone for a bit."

He hurried down the hallway, dragging his brother along. Canada had gone completely silent, trying to think about what he should tell the other.

Russia looked up in surprise when America almost kicked the door open.

"I'm sorry bud, but could you leave us alone until we're done talking?"

Russia looked puzzled, and reluctantly complied to the request. He sat down in front of the door, deciding to wait there until the American brothers were done talking. A displeased aura surrounded him, keeping nations from asking him why he was sitting there.

Inside, America had pulled Canada down onto the bed.

"Start talking."

Canada was still blushing and looked down at his hands, which were lying in his lap. "W-we're not together or anything, if that's what you think…" His voice was but a mere whisper, even softer than normally the case.

"Did you sleep with him?" America asked bluntly.

Canada flushed even deeper, his eyes becoming the size of pancakes.

"M-maple! No I did not!" But now America had planted the idea in his head, and he was dying at all the images that kept flashing through his mind.

"You know what, never mind. It's your decision. As long as you don't do anything stupid."

Canada hung his head. He wasn't used to America lecturing him; usually it was the other way around.

"No, I actually want to talk to you about France and Iggy. France doesn't want to tell me anything, but he told me you know what's going on."

Canada perked up. As long as they weren't going to talk about Prussia anymore, he was happy to try and help his brother.

"Arthur left this morning, and France told me not to hate him, and it's all getting really confusing, and I just want some answers, dammit!" His concern made him ball his fists.

His brother sighed. He knew this day would come.

"Alfred, Francis is in love with England."

America blinked sheepishly. "Come again?"

"He loves him. He always has. But he thinks Arthur doesn't love him back."

America found it difficult to take in this new information.

"Love? But, but… France is a pervert!"

"It's still the truth. And Francis would never force Arthur to do anything he doesn't want to do." Well, at least when he wasn't drunk.

"But, they're both guys!"

Canada looked at him sarcastically, an eyebrow raised in disapproval. America quickly shut his mouth and blushed slightly, realizing he had said something stupid. With there being a lot more male personifications than female, homosexuality wasn’t exactly uncommon amongst them.

"I think the biggest problem is that you think of Arthur as a parent or a big brother, and therefore you cannot imagine him loving someone that isn't you."

America didn't say anything. Even though it all sounded perfectly logical he just couldn't fathom England and France being together. He would need some time getting used to that idea.

"…Fine, let's suppose he is in love. But you said Iggy doesn't love him back?"

"Francis doesn't think so. I myself have no idea. I have spent more time talking with Francis, so I only know his side of the story."

His eyes lit up. "Maybe you could go talk to Arthur? Ask him what his feelings are."

America immediately backed away. "I should go ask Iggy about his love life? Not cool, dude!"

"It was only an idea. And they raised us, it's only natural we help them in return."

America admitted defeat at the mention of helping someone. "Fine, I'll go talk to him." He had to force himself not to sound whiney.

"Good. Now I should go back to my room, I still have to pack." Not that Canada was going to do any packing anytime soon.

When the Canadian got up, America tugged his sleeve. He looked down at his brother.

"…If there is ever something on your mind, you know you can tell me, right?" Canada knew he was talking about Prussia. He blushed once more but nodded.

"Same goes for you. Have a safe trip home."

After this, Canada left, and America let Russia back in.

"What did you and Matvey talk about?" he immediately inquired.

"I'll tell you later," America assured him.

He only got a light correcting tap on the shoulder for making the Russian wait outside. Result was America rolling over the floor and clutching his arm, screaming that he'd broken it. Russia told him not to act so childish, it would only become a light bruise. And heroes didn't act that way. The second argument successfully shut up the wailing American.

At the other end of the hotel, Canada was already kissing Prussia again. Sure, they weren't _exactly_ in a relationship, but damn, Prussia sure knew how to make out! And maybe sleeping with him wasn't such a bad idea now that his brother had mentioned it.

The two of them wouldn't leave the hotel until much later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Dobroe utro: Good morning  
> Guten Morgen: Good morning  
> Abel, wat hoor ik over jou en Sadik?: Abel, what do I hear about you and Sadik?  
> Zwijg: Shut up  
> Je sais: I know  
> Oui: Yes


	12. Birthday blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America doesn't want to say goodbye to his new friend just yet, so they make a new agreement.

America was quietly packing his bags.

He was feeling strangely melancholic. The party was over, and now it was time to go home again.

Home… To put it bluntly, America didn't feel like returning to an empty house at all. It was at moments like these that he almost felt envious of his citizens. They could start families and invite friends over whenever they wanted to. If America wanted to spend time with somebody, he had to take a plane. No, he didn't feel like going home one bit. He liked being among others, and hated being all by himself. He could still distinctly remember how he'd felt every time England had come to visit only to leave him again a short time later.

But then suddenly, he remembered the promise he had made the night before. He immediately jumped on the chance of having some company.

America dropped the socks he had been trying to fold up and peered at Russia.

"Hey, Ivan."

Russia perked up at hearing his name being called out.

"If um… That thing, about watching sunflowers and stuff?" Russia nodded, motioning for him to continue. "If you have time – and I'd totally understand if you don't – but if you wanna come, I don't really have any plans at the moment…" He felt nervous posing this question.

Russia frowned. "I have a meeting tomorrow afternoon…"

America tried not to pout. He'd come to enjoy the older nation's company these past few days. He had almost forgotten that Russia still had work and a life of his own.

After a few seconds of silence, the Slavic nation smiled widely. "I know! You can come with me!"

"Huh?" America asked.

Russia nodded, looking quite smug with his own cleverness. "Da! You can come to my house as a guest for tonight, and then tomorrow evening we go to your house together! That way I can go to the meeting, and I still need to pack."

America grinned. He quite liked the sound of that.

"Deal! Tonight sleepover at your place, and then tomorrow we'll go to mine!"

His heart skidded happily at not having to be separated from his new friend. Russia felt relieved as well, for he too had grown accustomed to having the younger nation around.

They shook hands to seal the deal, and got ready to leave the hotel.

* * *

"Ve~ It was nice having you over!" Northern Italy was smiling excitedly, a stern-looking German at his side.

"Same here buddy! And again, happy birthday!"

"Grazie!"

"And happy birthday to Romano as well!" Russia added softly, wanting to be a part of the conversation, but hoping he wasn't imposing at the same time.

"Yes, of course!" America agreed.

"I saw him going to the toilet with Antonio earlier. I wonder what's taking them so long?" the Italian innocently asked.

America (bad at reading the atmosphere) had no clue, Germany was blushing and face-palming, and Russia didn't know where to look.

"Oh right, my Bruder asked me to give you these," Germany said. He handed America a basket with some brownies. "He got them from Belgium and Netherland, but told me to give them to you."

"Um, thanks." America noticed a little note and read its contents.

_Do not worry, the Awesome Me will take very good care of your brother!_

America's eye twitched. He was going to have a serious talk with Prussia later.

"Anyways, see you guys at the next World Meeting I guess!" America said, grinning once again.

"Si! Ciao Alfred! Ciao mister Russia!"

Russia smiled in a way he hoped wasn't creepy and waved them goodbye while America picked up their bags and dragged them to the nearest cab. They both got in and left for the airport.

"That reminds me, I still don't know a lot about your hobbies," America said after a few minutes into the ride.

Russia's eyes lit up and he thought about what to tell him.

"Well, you already know I like to knit. Which reminds me, now that you are coming to my house, I can teach you!"

Shit, America had totally forgotten about that. Oh well.

"I like to cook." America nodded. Those blini he had made the other day had been pretty delicious.

"And… I love vodka, but I assume you already know that."

"Obviously," America muttered under his breath.

"I also like to go to the ballet."

"Ballet? Isn't that for girls?" America quickly shut his mouth when he saw the look on Russia's face. He didn't want a repeat of the knitting accident. It would be typically Russia to actually try and learn him to do ballet as well (oh shit, now he had just imagined Russia in a tutu). "Never mind!"

Russia's face morphed back into his usual little smile as he continued. "And I like tweaking with technology. Ah, that reminds me of that one time Estonia thought I had hacked his blog. So much fun we had~"

His smile grew wider and his eyes trailed off when he remembered how Estonia had accused him. He wasn't so sure of himself when Russia had chased after him with his trusty faucet…

America quickly tried to keep Russia from thinking whatever the hell he was thinking about.

"Hey, my turn! You've talked about your hobbies for long enough! I already know you like knitting, cooking, tweaking, vodka and ballet. Now tell me, what do you know about my hobbies?"

Russia snapped back to the present and looked at the younger nation.

"Your hobbies? Let's see… I know you are quite fond of movies and archaeology."

America nodded. "Yeah, I told you that before, huh? What else do you know about me?"

Russia closed his eyes as he thought it over. "You can be quite excited about sports, even though you don't practise them very often…"

"Hey! It's not because you never see me practise that I don't do nothing!" America huffed indignantly.

"Is that so?" Russia asked, lazily opening one eye. "Then you should show me some time."

"Yeah yeah, just move on."

"Hm, what else?" Russia closed his eye again. He was quite liking this game.

"You are also interested in space, as am I. I believe you have an alien friend?"

"Tony's no alien! He's my buddy!"

Russia chuckled. "If you say so, Fedya."

America blushed slightly at the obvious fondness with which Russia pronounced his nickname.

"You love food, but it does not make you fat. On the contrary, you are rather muscular."

America's blush increased. Now Russia was just teasing him, he was sure of it.

"You like video games. Have you played Tetris yet?"

"I guess so," he mumbled, still a little embarrassed.

Russia's smile widened even more, his eyes still closed. "And you like the idea of happy endings. But I do hope you have changed your mind about that." He opened his eyes and slowly looked at the younger nation. The expression on his face was gentle and genuinely concerned for the American's well-being. His violet eyes seemed to light up from under half-closed eyelids.

America gulped and blinked sheepishly. Why was he feeling so weird? Was it because of the earlier compliment (which he was still certain hadn't been an actual compliment), or was it because of the warmth radiating from Russia's gaze, a nation who was covered in snow like all year long?

"Don't worry, I've changed my mind," America reassured him. His voice sounded a little hoarse.

Russia's smile reached its maximum level, his eyes still shining. America could only describe it as stunning and the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. Way too cute for a guy that big.

"That makes me happy, Fedya."

America faked a yawn. "I'm going to take a nap now. Wake me up when we get to the airport."

"I will."

America rolled onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut. He desperately tried to ignore the pounding of his heart, telling himself to think nothing of it.

* * *

America woke up as the plane was about to land in Moscow.

"H-how did we get on the plane?" the young nation asked, trying to stifle a real yawn. He had no memories of getting on the thing at all.

Russia chuckled. "I carried you."

"Oh, fine…" As America stretched to pop his back, the meaning of those words settled in. "Wait, what? You mean you carried me all the way through the airport? How did we get past security?"

Russia smirked with eyes closed. "Let us say the guards did not feel like stopping me." A creepy undertone coloured his voice.

"…Dude. What did I say about no violence?"

Russia looked at him, eyes childishly wide and questioning. "Did that not only apply to your friends? And do not worry, there was no need for violence."

America was about to retort, but snapped his mouth shut at the last moment.

"You know what, never mind. I guess I can't change all of you. But did you seriously have to carry me all the way here?"

"I did not want to wake you," Russia simply replied, eyes mellow.

America looked out the window to hide the red that was dusting his ears. Sure, being friends with Russia was kinda nice, but they didn't have to get too close. America didn't like to be carried bridal-style by anyone. End of Story.

They exited the plane after most of the passengers had left their seat. America offered to take their bags, him being better at lifting stuff despite Russia being the taller one of the two.

"So, where to now big guy?" America asked.

Russia guided him to a private parking lot that was occupied by a beast of a car.

"Wow, that yours?"

Russia nodded, proud look present in his eyes. America dropped their bags in the back of the car before climbing in the passenger's seat.

"How long is the ride?" America asked as Russia started up the vehicle.

"About two hours. If you would like to you can go back to sleep for a while."

America shook his head. "Nah, I'm fully rested now. But can I turn on the radio?"

"Go ahead."

America searched for a station that had some nice music while Russia left the airport. As expected, the roads and landscapes were covered in virgin white snow. America liked the sight, as long as he didn't have to be outside braving the cold. It reminded him of Christmas. Russia on the other hand found the colour white much too empty.

"Does your place always look like this?" America asked.

Russia hummed thoughtfully. "When it gets warmer, the snow will turn into slush and dirt. Moscow is not always a 'Winter Wonderland', I believe that is what your people call it."

"When does that happen?"

"It should begin any time now."

America nodded as he took in the new information.

"And what about summer?"

"Summer is quite nice. But sometimes it gets too hot. Not like in some parts of your country, but hot enough for my people."

_'Guess that means above freezing point_ ,' America thought while rolling his eyes. He could not imagine a part of Russia warming up any time soon. For him, the country was a place of blizzards and winter all year long. But then again, it wasn't like he visited Russia very often, so he had no real experience to rely on.

"When's your birthday?" America suddenly asked.

Russia was happy his friend was interested in him. "The 30th of December."

"So it's already in the past…"

Russia was wondering what his companion meant by those words. He was about to ask, when America spoke again.

"So did you have a party?"

Russia shook his head, eyes remaining on the road. "Nyet. I did drink some nice vodka."

America had a shocked expression on his face.

"What? No party? You gotta be kidding me!"

Russia took his eyes off the road for a second to give America a sarcastic look. "Other than you Alfred, I am not the kind of person people like to party with."

America was completely stunned. The 4th of July has always been a day full of festivities for him, and America made sure everyone knew it was that time of the year again. But to not even get some kind of celebration…

He was getting Russia a party. Oh yes, he would organize such a great party for the Russian that he wouldn't even be able to walk the morning after. It was going to be the biggest thing of his life, to make up for all those years of not having one. After all, how many centuries had Russia lived again?

"And, it's like that every year?" America asked to be certain.

Russia nodded. "Da. My birthday consists of me, the fireplace, and a nice bottle of vodka. Maybe a good book. I do get presents for my sisters."

Good, at least he had that. America looked at Russia in awe as the nation began whistling. The guy had no idea how bad the American felt for him right now.

That party was going to happen, whether Russia wanted it too or not. America would take care of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Bruder: Brother


	13. Knitting 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Russia tries to teach America how to knit, things get a bit heated.

After they arrived at Russia's enormous house (more like a mansion!), America stretched to pop his joints. The nation whistled in admiration.

"Nice place, big guy! And you live here all by yourself?"

Russia's expression dropped slightly. "I used to live here with a big family…"

America realized his mistake. The USSR(1) was a topic best to be avoided.

"Okay then!" he said in a cheerful voice, trying to distract the other. "Let's get our bags inside and make some dinner! I'm starving!"

It was already getting quite late due to the long plane ride, but Russia had no objections to cooking them supper.

"I shall bring your bags to your room. Meanwhile, could you get the fire started?"

America walked into Russia's living room, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm. Spring or not, Russia's house was freezing cold!

America happily warmed his hands as soon as the fireplace was lit. He pulled up some cushions to make a comfy little nest, where he waited until his body had warmed up. He could hear sounds coming out of the kitchen, and a low singing. Apparently Russia was in a good mood. And he could sing pretty darn good.

"What're we eating?" America asked.

"Pirozhki!" Russia answered. America always heard the other talking about the dish, but he had no idea what to expect.

The American could hear the wind going on a rampage outside, and hugged his body even tighter. Luckily, the warmth of the fire had started spreading, and America blissfully sat in its glow.

"Alfred?" Russia called.

"Coming!" America reluctantly left his little cocoon of warmth and went to the dining room. Russia's house felt like it had been there for ages, which it probably had. Wooden furniture, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, brown and blue wallpaper that probably hadn't been changed in like, forever.

Russia beamed as he presented the dish he had put together for the both of them. "Prijatnovo appetita!" he said with his usual smile, although his eyes shone merrily.

It looked like little bread rolls with some sort of stuffing. America scooped up one of the small rolls and took a tentative bite. He found he quite liked the taste of it. Russia had admitted he enjoyed cooking after all.

America gave Russia a thumbs-up, and received a shy yet proud smile in return.

"What's in these?" the blond asked as he finished his first roll and picked up a second one.

"Meat, mushrooms and onions. But many different fillings are possible."

They both ate until the plate was finished, America chattering away and Russia listening. For once, his empty house was filled with laughter again. Russia had known from the start that becoming friends with America was a good idea, but he would have never imagined how much joy it could bring to his heart. He took in every word the American said, looking into his energetic blue eyes, studying the way his mouth moved as he spoke, tasting his scent and sounds. Yes, bringing the younger nation here had definitely been a good idea.

"What're you staring at, big guy?" America suddenly interrupted his monologue.

"At you," Russia replied bluntly.

America huffed, pink dusting his cheeks. "You big creep."

Russia chuckled as America crossed his arms. His irritation didn't last long however, because the young nation started to slump back in his chair. He was finding it very difficult to keep his eyes open, still groggy from his nap earlier combined with the car ride, food and the heat from the fireplace.

"Time for bed it seems," Russia said, as he stood up and extended a hand to the other. America grabbed it and lazily let himself be pulled up. Again, he reminded Russia of a little kid. He thought it was beyond captivating.

Russia took America up the stairs, and guided him to his room. He halted in front of the door.

"This used to be Lithuania's room." His eyes slid shut, thoughts now in the past.

America speculated on how to bring him back to the present, but was too tired to think for long. He just did what first came to mind.

America got on the tip of his toes, and pressed a docile kiss on Russia's cheek. The Russian's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at America with a surprised yet warm expression.

"See ya tomorrow, big guy," America said, a crooked grin on his face. He felt a little abashed at his own unexpected behaviour, but anything to successfully distract the Russian was a job well done.

Russia smirked, eyes flickering cheerfully. "Spokojnoj noči, Fedya."

America stumbled into his bedroom, slowly put on his pyjamas, and let himself fall down onto his bed. He fell asleep a short time after that.

Russia was still standing in front of America's door, a hand lying on the cheek that the nation had kissed. It was warmish, a weird sensation for a nation who was usually cold. His thoughts had trailed off to sunny beaches, fields of sunflowers, and all things pleasant he could dig up in his memories. He held a hand over his chest, worried his heart was going to pop out again. It certainly felt like it could, beating as fast as it was.

Russia had no idea why he was feeling like this, and what exactly it was he was feeling. He only knew it was nice, and he didn't want to let go of it. And also, that it had something to do with America.

He had yet to find out just what exactly the younger nation meant to him.

* * *

"Aaaaand what's behind door number one?" a voice asked before roaring with laughter.

America refused to answer. He knew exactly what was behind this so-called door number one. He just didn't want his consciousness to know.

So with all the courage he could muster, he turned his back on the door and stepped out of the dream, immediately forgetting all about it as if it'd never even happened.

* * *

When America woke up, he found his feet all tangled up in the sheets. He grumpily tried to untangle them, and ended up falling out of his bed. The thud he caused was apparently a tad louder than expected, because suddenly his host was knocking on the door.

"Alfred? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah yeah, just fell out of bed! Nothing to worry about," America returned, finally freeing his legs.

"I will make breakfast, da?" Russia said before leaving.

America pulled the curtains away to reveal a sunny day. Huh. So apparently Russia _could_ have nice weather. Would you look at that.

America went to the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. As he was brushing his teeth, he could see the bathtub in the mirror. It occurred to him that he still hadn't asked if Russia ever took off his scarf. He thought about asking him over breakfast, but somehow it felt like a rather personal question. Maybe later.

The nation finished dressing up and skidded down the stairs, following the scent of coffee.

"Mornin'," America greeted.

"Dobroe utro," Russia answered.

He was eating a regular sandwich with jam while reading an old newspaper. America searched through the kitchen, and soon found what he'd been looking for in one of the cupboards: peanut butter. He didn't even know Russia liked peanut butter, but then again, the guy was full of surprises.

"Peanut butter jelly time!" America happily sung to himself. Russia sent him a jaunty look, but didn't make any comments. That was one of the things America liked about having the older nation as a friend: he never judged him. England would've definitely called him childish for getting this excited over food, but Russia simply let it slip, sometimes even joining the fun.

America sat down in front of his host and took a big bite out of his sandwich.

"So, whtrtheplns?" he asked.

"Alfred, I cannot understand you."

America swallowed and tried again.

"What are today's plans? I know you have that meeting to go to, but you said it was only this afternoon?"

Russia nodded. "Da, at four. In the meantime, I have prepared something."

Russia giggled when he saw the look on America's face. He left the kitchen for a short while before returning with something America had come to dread. He mentally groaned as he saw a ball of yarn and two knitting needles. He _really_ didn't want to learn how to knit.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, there's probably tons of other stuff we could do…"

"You were the one who said he wanted to learn how to knit," Russia reminded him, voice dangerously sweet. It told America that if he were to object, Russia would stick those needles in a place on his body where they definitely didn't belong, as payment for making fun of the Russian's hobby.

"Fine, you win," America surrendered. He finished his breakfast and followed Russia to the living room.

The violet-eyed nation sat down and patted the couch, waiting for America to take a seat as well. Russia held the needles out in front of his eyes, making sure his guest could see everything he was about to show him.

"First, you have to make a knot," Russia explained, showing America how it was done. America nodded, waiting for the older nation to continue.

Russia slid the needle in, and showed him the next step. The younger nation was already getting confused, but didn't show it. It wasn't like he was ever going to knit again, so what was the point in paying attention?

"Are you able to follow?" Russia asked.

"Oh yeah, definitely," America said, nodding eagerly.

A sly smile curled around Russia's lips. He held up the other needle and a thread.

"All right then, show me."

America took the equipment and blinked a few times. He tried to make a knot just as the other had done, but failed miserably. Russia tsk-ed and took the needle back. He gave America a light pinch.

"Ow! What was that for?" America huffed, rubbing his cheek.

"That was for not paying attention. If you cannot follow, you just have to ask, da?"

"I was too paying attention! It's not my fault knitting is too ridiculously hard!"

Russia frowned and bent over to give America another pinch, but the other managed to dodge it. Russia pursued him, bending over further and further, until they both toppled over. America let out a surprised yelp as the two of them fell off the couch and hit the floor.

"Oof!" Russia groaned, before propping himself up on his elbows. He began to playfully pinch his student at every place he could reach.

"Stop it!" America giggled, poking the Russian in return.

Russia started giggling as well, and decided to immobilize the younger nation by lifting himself up and dropping his body down onto the American's torso. America shrieked as he felt the full weight of the older nation land on top of him. His arms were squished in between both of their bodies.

"Dude! Get off, you're damn heavy!"

"No can do~" Russia said in a sing-song voice.

He watched in amusement as America tried to wiggle his way out of this predicament, but Russia successfully kept him pinned to the ground. He brought their faces close, and smiled widely.

"Punishment for making fun of my hobby," he teased.

His smile grew less wide as he looked down at the American. His guest was breathing heavily from their previous struggle and his face was red, his blue eyes were piercing, and his breath still had a hint of mint toothpaste to it. Russia was suddenly caught by the strange desire to close the distance between them, and kiss the younger nation.

Russia abruptly sat up and got off of America. The American got up as well, dusting off his clothes. He turned to Russia and opened his mouth as to speak his mind, but his words were changed into something new when he saw the confused look on the nation's face.

"Ivan? Something wrong?"

Russia looked strangely out of breath. Their struggle hadn't been all that heavy for the Russian, he had just been lying there with his fat ass, doing nothing! America was getting confused as well. In a bright moment, he thought of a logical explanation. For him, the child's play had meant nothing more than that (him not being able to read the sudden mood-change). Fooling around. But maybe it somehow reminded the Russian of the days where they used to fight all the time?

"I-I still have work to do," Russia said. He stood up and left the room, giving America no time to call him back.

Well, that was weird. America was concerned for his friend, worried about the odd reaction. He decided he would talk to him as soon as he got back. And if that wasn't going to be soon enough to his tastes, he would go up there himself and have a word with the Russian. He didn't want their new friendship to be broken because of their shared past. America was someone who lived in the present, trying not to hold grudges. Sure, that didn't work all the time, but America was far too energetic to keep mulling things over, and thinking about yesterday's news. He only hoped Russia could be able to do that as well.

America finally got off of the floor, straightening his jacket. He decided to explore the house to give his host some time to cool down.

Little did he know, Russia wasn't concerned about the past at all. No, it was the present that kept spinning through his mind. It made him very worried. Or not exactly worried. Just momentarily perplexed.

_'I am just overreacting_ ,' he thought as he paced up and down his room.

_'I usually kiss people as a manner of greeting. This is no different from that. Friends can kiss each other too, right?_ '

He thought about all the times Northern Italy had kissed just about every other nation he came across. He never seemed too worried about it. Russia felt himself calm down again. Yes, kissing was normal between friends. He was just overreacting. The weird feeling in his stomach meant nothing at all. Or maybe he had just eaten something bad. Yes. Nothing to be flustered about at all. And he was going to prove it right now.

Russia slammed the door open and marched down the stairs, determined to prove to himself he could be a good friend to the American.

America looked up as he heard heavy footsteps coming towards him. He quickly laid down the book he was looking through, ready for the confrontation.

He turned towards the Russian and opened his mouth, but was immediately cut off as Russia forcefully planted his lips onto the younger nation's.

America froze under the sudden touch, his mind going haywire. It was short and powerful.

Russia broke the kiss, usual creepy smile in place. "I just realized we have not sealed our new friendship yet! I hereby declare us official friends!"

He hummed happily as he turned around and went back to his study. There, he had proved he wasn't a coward. He could do everything friends were supposed to do.

America hadn't moved yet. He brought his fingers to his lips, and blinked dumbly.

"What the hell just happened?" he spoke out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russia is not in denial. Because how can you be in denial when you don't even know what love is? I personally don't think Russia has had many chances to discover love. He is socially awkward, and he lives alone in a mansion secluded by the snow. He has no idea what he is feeling, and it's going to take some time for him to find out. But hey, that means the story is long from finished! And I just like Russia this innocent.
> 
> 1) For those who don't know: USSR is short for the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, or simply the Soviet Union.
> 
> Words:  
> Prijatnovo appetita: Bon appetit  
> Spokojnoj noči: Good night


	14. Little Vanya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America has a little talk with Lithuania and Ukraine, and comes to better understand his Russian friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I wrote this chapter quite some time ago, but it feels reeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaally weird posting something about Ukraine with the situation there.  
> I would place this story somewhere around the present, but political issues will be disregarded, since that's not really the main focus of the story.

America could hear the phone going over.

"Come on… Just pick up already…"

He sighed in relief when he heard the call being taken.

"Lithuania speaking, how may I help you?"

"Toris!" America nearly shouted.

"Oh! Mr. America, what a surprise!" Lithuania laughed.

"Please, I told you to call me Alfred," the blond said, momentarily distracted. Since Lithuania had lived in his house, he had always been so formal, calling him 'sir' and stuff.

"But that doesn't matter right now. Toris, I have something very important to ask you!"

"What is it?" the other asked, concern colouring his voice.

"Does it mean something when Russia kisses you?" America had to try hard not to squeeze his cellphone to dust. He desperately hoped the Lithuanian had a logical explanation for Russia's behaviour. If only to ease the thumping of his own heart.

He could hear a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Most likely not. He often kisses people when he greets them right?"

America nodded, forgetting he was on the phone.

After a moment of silence, Lithuania continued. "Why are you asking me this? I thought you were already acquainted with his… quirks."

"Yeah, but… This wasn't exactly a greeting."

"Ah." Lithuania understood America's unease.

"It's better not to worry about it. I don't believe kissing means much to Mr. Russia." After all, he had never loved someone as far as Lithuania knew, so kissing couldn't have _that_ meaning to the Russian.

America felt relieve wash over his body. Those were exactly the words he wanted to hear. He deliberately ignored the tiny part of him that was disappointed. He refused to believe that part even existed.

"Thank you. I was just a bit shocked, I think."

"But Alfred, didn't everybody go home yesterday?" Lithuania inquired, suddenly realizing something.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorta having a sleepover at his place."

"Oh…" Apparently their friendship had progressed more smoothly than expected. Lithuania smiled.

"That's good to hear, Alfred."

"Why?" America asked, curious.

There was a moment of silence before Lithuania softly continued.

"You see… You might not know this, but Russia doesn't have many friends."

"Yeah, I know," America assured him. "He told me. Plus, it’s kinda obvious…"

"He did?" Lithuania asked in surprise. "That must mean he truly trusts you."

"Trusts me?" America laughed. It didn't feel like he had done anything special to deserve that. Well, except for becoming his friend. Was that all that was needed to gain Russia's trust?

"Yes. I am one of the only nations who knows about some of his fears and dreams. I don't know why he decided to tell me of all people, but I do know he hasn't told many others."

"Dreams… You mean like the one with the sunflowers?"

"Oh, he has even told you about that?" Lithuania said joyfully. "Well, that just proves that he fully trusts you! Alfred, if Russia really sees you as a friend, and if you feel the same, please try to keep him happy."

America cocked his head at hearing this. "Why would you want him to be happy? Didn't you guys hate living with him?"

"We did, but… Even though Russia may be a tough person to deal with, he may be violent at times and ignorant to normal social procedures, I do wish for him to be happy. Maybe I feel this way because he put his trust in me, or maybe because I kinda like his sister. But that is just how I feel. He’s still one of us, after all."

America understood the feeling. The hero-side of him always wanted to make others happy. No exceptions. Perhaps maybe villains. But Russia wasn't a villain. Not anymore.

America smiled. He too wanted Russia to be happy. After spending this much time together, he no longer saw the Slavic nation as a single-minded psychopath. He was much more, a nation with real emotions and hopes and dreams.

"Don't worry Toris. I feel the same."

He could just hear Lithuania's grin over the line.

"I'm glad. I have to go now. Stay well Mr. America."

"It's Alfred! Oh yeah, and one more thing."

"What is it?"

America lowered his voice. "You don't think he's still mad about the Cold War, do you?"

"I wouldn't worry about that, he wouldn't invite you over if he were. If anything, I'm guessing he would be sad instead."

"Oh… All right then, good to know. See you some time in the future?"

"Yes, you can visit whenever you want to. Goodbye Alfred!"

He ended the call. Yes, contacting Lithuania had been a good idea. He knew about both him and Russia, and therefore was the perfect third person to rely on. America felt bad about hearing Russia was sad about the whole Cold War situation, but he was definitely going to change that.

With time to spare, he decided to go exploring again.

* * *

America was looking through some old pictures of paintings from the time the Romanovs were still alive, when he heard his name being called out. The nation quickly put the photo album back in the shelf where he'd found it and walked over to the balustrade. He looked down to see Russia standing at his front door, coat draped over his shoulders and ready to go.

"Alfred, I have to leave for the meeting now. Will you be all right on your own?"

America rolled his eyes and laughed his hero-laugh. "Of course, big guy! You just go to your meeting, I'll try to keep this place from breaking down once the party's started!"

Russia kept smiling but ever-so-slightly narrowed his eyes at the comment, not amused at all. Even from this distance, America noticed the change in the Russian's mood. He was getting considerably better at reading the atmosphere, at least when it came to his new friend.

"Dude, just kiddin'! I'll just go watch some TV or something. Don't worry 'bout it!"

Russia's face relaxed again. "Da, television is in my room. I will be back by eight o'clock."

With that he left the house and shut the door behind him with an audible click. America wandered over to where he thought Russia's bedroom was situated and opened the wooden door.

Yep, there it was. Television, writing desk, wooden closet (probably oak or something), and a very large, very comfortable looking king size bed. America couldn't keep his eyes off the bed. Before any real thoughts could start forming, he shut the door and ran off. The bedroom was a very bad place to be at right now. It would remind him of the kiss, and of that tiny voice in the back of his head that kept trying to tell him he'd secretly liked it. He was so not ready to listen to what that voice had to say.

So instead, America followed a new batch of stairs up to the attic. Certainly Russia wouldn't mind him checking out all of this old stuff, right?

He found some dusty old clothes (that looked very much like the clothes Russia wore nowadays), some matryoshka dolls, a pair of levis (probably from back when jeans were forbidden in the USSR), and an old photograph of the allies. America smiled when he saw that picture. Oh, how much fun they'd had! Well, that was when they weren't fighting amongst themselves. But beating up the bad guys always left America feeling satisfied.

_'But I guess the Axis aren't the bad guys anymore, huh?_ ' he thought. He and Japan were friends now, Germany was indispensable at meetings, Prussia was the same old Prussia (only a lot more into America's sibling than he used to be, apparently), and the Italian brothers were fun to hang out with (if you could get past Romano's constant cursing).

Times changed, and so did the nations. Russia and himself included.

America jerked back when he heard the sound of the doorbell. He got up and made his way back down the staircase.

_'Strange, Russia didn't say he was expecting any visitors_.'

America opened the door, curious as to who he would find on the other side of it. His frown changed into a wide grin when he was met by the blue eyes and big, um… you know, of Ukraine.

"Oh, Alfred! What a surprise to see you here!" Ukraine exclaimed, smiling childishly (only her smile wasn't creepy like Russia's).

"Yeah, I'm staying here for the night," America explained as he stepped aside to let the other in.

"That is nice!" the woman chirped with twinkling eyes. Her little brother didn't have guests over very often, so she knew he was probably thrilled with the company. "Is Ivan at home?"

America gentlemanly offered to take her coat, trying to keep his eyes fixed on her face.

"Nope, he's at a meeting. Said he would be back by eight though."

"Oh no!" Ukraine cried out. Big, soppy tears were already forming in the corners of her eyes. "And right when I finally got permission from my boss to come visit my little brother! Oh, he must think I am a very bad big sister…"

America frantically tried to calm her down. "Don't worry! We'll just do something to pass the time until he gets here! He'll definitely let you stay for dinner."

America put his hand on the small of Ukraine's back and guided her to the living room, handing her a handkerchief once they were seated.

"Th-thank you," she sniffed. "You really think he won't mind?"

"Not at all! He's your little brother after all!" It felt really weird referring to one of the tallest nations (scratch that, _the_ tallest nation along with Sweden) as 'little'.

America poured Ukraine something to drink (Russia wouldn't mind that either) and relaxed as she fully calmed down again.

While he thought about a possible topic of conversation, the blue-eyed nation recalled his secret plans.

"So, I'm sort of planning a surprise party for Ivan."

Ukraine's eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. "Really? Oh, that's wonderful! I would have visited him on his birthday if only my boss would allow me."

"Yeah, he doesn't blame you," America quickly reassured her before she could start crying again. "He told me you got him a present?"

She nodded. "Yes, I gave him a book from Alexander Afanasyev(1). I give him something every year. That reminds me of the time I gave him his scarf…" Ukraine trailed off, lost in memories.

"So you gave him that scarf?" America asked.

The Ukrainian smiled. "Little Vanya was very happy with it. I am glad he still wears it."

Little Vanya, huh? That was too freakishly cute for words.

"What was he like as a kid?" America asked. He seriously couldn't even begin to imagine Russia as a child.

Ukraine giggled. "Oh, he truly was the most adorable little nation ever. Always looking up at me with those big round eyes – that was when he still had to look up, but when he got bigger he was cute too! When he was still very young, he just loved to play around in the snow and he would always ask me about everything new he encountered."

Ukraine closed her eyes. "I remember one time when Natalia had buried him in the snow, and only his head was sticking out! He was freezing to death by the time we got him out again! I scolded them for doing such a reckless thing, but I still think the sight of it was so very darling~"

Then, her face grew sad again.

"But Vanya has always been very lonely. He was bullied a lot, you know. I did not know how to help him, and it broke my heart to see him so sad. I remember this one time he even got rejected by a hamster, the poor thing! And then General Winter comes to haunt him every year…"

Huh. That was kind of a bummer. And really, really sad and pitiable. But America definitely did not have a lump in his throat, and those weren't tears he was trying to hold back. Whatever gave you that idea? Heroes don't cry! He just got a little dust in his eye and maybe he was also allergic to depressing stories.

Ukraine grabbed America's hand. "Alfred, are you and Vanya friends now?"

America hesitantly nodded, trying his hardest not to break away from her unexpected fierce gaze.

"I must ask you to be patient with him. He has never had any real friends before. So if he does something weird or abnormal, know it is not his intention at all! He just doesn't know any better. Please, Alfred. I only wish for Vanya's happiness."

Russia should really pay more attention to those around him. There were quite a few nations who cared deeply for his well-being. America knew, now being one of them.

"I promise!" he said in a solemn tone while holding his right hand over his heart, making Ukraine smile again.

* * *

After that, they tackled some less heavy subjects for a long time, drinking and laughing away, until a voice called out to them.

"Katyusha?"

Both Ukraine and America looked over the back of the couch. Damn, was it eight o'clock already? Time really flies when you're having fun!

"Vanya!" Ukraine exclaimed. She quickly got up from the couch and rushed over to the tall nation to give him a hug.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, both confused and pleasantly surprised by her sudden appearance.

"Oh brother, I am so happy to see you! My boss gave me permission for this one visit, can you please forgive me for not coming more often? And please do not worry about the money I owe you, I'm getting there!"

Russia tried to calm her down as he hugged her back. "It is okay, I am happy you could visit."

Right then, America's stomach made an audible growling noise. The three of them burst into laughter.

"Oops! Guess that means it's dinner time!" America said, grinning light-heartedly.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Russia asked his sister.

"Only if it's not too much trouble!"

Russia smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Not at all!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Alexander Nikolayevich Afanasyev is a Russian writer who has published over 600 Russian folklores and fairy-tales. I see Russia as a reader of ‘sophisticated’ literature, but I do believe he would be interested in folklore and fairy-tales as well.


	15. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ukraine, Belarus decides to pay a visit as well. It doesn't end well.

They had spent a rather nice evening together, filled with idle chitchat and a comfortable mood. Ukraine had offered to cook, and America did the dishes. Russia really seemed to enjoy himself. At almost nine, Ukraine left again, hugging her brother tightly and softly repeating her words of thanks to America.

Now, the Russian and the American were sitting on the couch, both exhausted from the long day.

"How'd the meeting go?" America asked while lazily scratching his chin.

"Went okay," Russia answered, not even bothering to elaborate. America didn't care, with their shared history it would be better to not ever mention politics in their free time. America knew that if they would dare go that direction, it would end with the both of them at each other's throats, yelling 'Commie bastard' and 'Capitalist pig'. He didn't really feel like destroying the relationship they had now just like that.

The silence kept dragging on, neither wanting to break it, until the doorbell rang for the second time that day.

"You're getting a lot of unexpected guests huh?" America remarked before stifling a yawn.

Russia frowned. Who on earth would visit him at a quarter past nine in the evening? He slowly got up and went to the door.

America followed him with his eyes, mind too dazed to form any clear thoughts. He listened as heavy boots walked to the front door, and he could hear the sound of a lock being undone.

What happened next jolted him awake.

"Big brother, let me in! It is freezing out there!"

"N-N-Natalia? I-I did not k-know you were coming!"

The American felt his muscles tense at the frightened tone of the ashen blond. Apparently both of Russia's sisters had gotten the same idea to pay him a visit. And it seemed the tall nation was a lot less happy with this visitor.

There was a moment of silence before Belarus shrieked "IS SOMEBODY ELSE IN HERE?"

Russia tried to stop her, but his efforts were in vain. When America looked up, he saw a furious female standing in the doorway.

"YOU!" she hissed.

America could feel the little hairs in his neck standing up. He had no idea why Belarus would be this pissed at him for staying at her brother's. However, from previous political relations with her country, he knew that she wasn't just a pretty face. And if she was angry at him, he was not going to sit there and get a knife in his gut.

So, America did the only logical thing: he sprang up and bolted out of the room, his pursuer hot on his heels. He sprinted through the dining room and kitchen, and ended up in the hallway. Taking the stairs by three steps at the time, he ran to the second floor(1). He could hear Belarus coming after him, but didn't dare look back. He shot into the first room he encountered, which happened to be once again Russia's bedroom. Luckily for the American there was a giant padlock waiting for him at the door, which he immediately locked. The girl slammed into the door with such force the wood creaked in its hinges.

America's eyes shot through the room, looking for something to defend himself with. He was stopped in his tracks as something shiny caught his eye. The blond pulled a tapestry from the wall to reveal a hidden door with a silver doorknob. Without questioning its existence he pulled it open and barely caught himself as he almost tumbled down a spiral staircase. He ran down with such speed that he smacked into the door at which the staircase ended. The young nation fumbled with the doorknob, praying for it to open as he could hear the screeching of a banshee coming from upstairs. Apparently Belarus could open doors even when they were locked with padlocks the size of a small radio.

The door swung open and America found himself once again in the hallway. He was frantically searching for an escape route, when he suddenly felt one arm being wrapped around his waist and a hand placed over his mouth. His yelp of surprise was muffled by a black leather glove, and Russia quickly pulled him into the cellar.

"I have panic room down there!" he whispered, moving as fast as possible while dragging his guest along.

Russia opened a hidden trap door and pushed the American inside, a bit rougher than he normally would've due to his nerves. Luckily, America landed on a soft bed of pillows. He quickly rolled away to avoid being squashed by the Russian. Russia closed the shutter and locked it. The room was now completely dark. America could still feel adrenaline rushing through his veins. So when the other tried to light a candle, he spun around so fast that he hit the wall behind him.

"Ow, shit!" he cursed.

When he looked up, Russia was crouching right next to him.

"Please try not to shout," he whispered, voice more accented because of the stress. His usual smile was nowhere to be found, and his eyes were big with fear.

America felt the adrenaline wash away, as it was replaced by indignity.

"What the hell is her problem?!" he hissed. She had never gone this psycho on him in all the years they'd known each other.

"Prosti. Belarus can be quite… What is word again?... tenacious, when it comes to me. She does not like it when others are close to me."

"Why's that? I mean, it's not like you two are married or anything!"

Russia's eyes grew to become the size of satellite dishes. "S-she says she _wants_ to marry me…"

America was left speechless, jaw almost dropping to the floor.

"…Dude. No offense to your sister, but that's just gross."

Russia buried his face in his scarf. It was only now that America noticed he was trembling. His disgust disappeared as the hero-side of him took over. He quickly pulled the Russian into an embrace, rubbing his hands over the nation's back to try and comfort him.

"It's okay dude, she can't get us down here."

At first, Russia tensed. But then his heart started beating at a rather fast pace. He blushed, hoping it wouldn't pop out on him again. That would be utterly embarrassing. He did enjoy the hug though. It was a nice gesture, although it didn't completely calm him down (but it did distract him for a few seconds). He did not put his arms around the other, trying to keep them safely over his heart, but didn't pull back either. He was wondering what those strange sensations meant. They were happening quite a lot lately.

The two of them stayed like that for a while, until America remembered the kiss of that morning. He immediately broke the embrace, flustered once again. Sure, it hadn't meant anything, but he still found it rather awkward.

"…So, should I go up and see if she's gone yet?"

Russia grabbed his arm to stop him. "Nyet! That would be very dangerous!"

America huffed. "Don't worry dude! Besides, if I do encounter her, I can kick her ass – only if you're fine with that, of course."

The older nation shook his head. "I know you can do that, but she is still my little sister."

America sighed and sat back down. "So what do we do now? Sit here until morning?"

Russia thought it over for a bit. "…I have a plan."

He pulled out his cellphone and dialled a number. The American tried to read the name on the screen, but there wasn't enough light.

"Privet, Lithuania," Russia spoke.

America perked an eyebrow. Just what was the Russian planning?

"Da. I have a favour to ask of you." There was a silence that indicated Lithuania was saying something, before Russia spoke again. "Nyet, it has nothing to do with that. I simply want you to come over to my house and ask Belarus out on a date."

Another silence. Russia shuddered. "Da… I am happy you think that way…" His face told America otherwise.

"Da. Spasiba." Russia hung up his phone.

"So Toris is coming here huh?" America inquired.

The Russian nodded. "Da. He will ask Natalia out on a date. He sounded rather happy."

Both nations shuddered. Lithuania really had a weird taste in women.

"So… Now we just wait?"

"Da."

They both settled against the wall, twiddling their thumbs. Now that the chase was over, America felt his previous exhaustion return. He'd started nodding off, but couldn't sleep due to the cold. There were pillows in this little panic room, but no sheets. He decided to do something to keep himself busy.

"So… What's your favorite colour?" the American asked in a hushed voice.

Russia raised an eyebrow at him, but replied nonetheless. "I like yellow a lot.”

"Yellow huh? Mine's blue and red. And white I guess. In that combination. Now you ask something."

Russia turned slightly to face him. "Ask what?"

"Anything you want to know. You have to answer yourself of course. I just figured it'd be better than just sitting here and waiting for Toris to arrive."

Russia nodded and thought up a question.

"All right then… Favourite flower? Mine is a sunflower, obviously."

"Even though the rose is my national flower, I like crocuses and daffodils. They remind me of spring. Okay, next question. Favorite American movie? And I know you've watched a few, don't try to deny it."

Russia giggled, the tension slipping from his shoulders. "Da, I am guilty. I liked that one film with the girl who is taken by a tornado and ends up in a strange land."

" _The Wizard of Oz_? You seriously liked that one?"

"Da. It was funny."

"Remind me to watch that with you sometime. For me it's Hitchcock all the way."

"Your favourite book? And comic books do not count."

"I guess… _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Met the guy once, nice fella."

"I like Tolstoy. He was also nice."

"Yeah, his name does ring a bell. Favorite season? Or seasons?"

They both said spring and summer at the same time. America snickered.

"Why summer and spring?"

"Spring means General Winter has to leave me alone. And summer because it is nice and warm."

"Who's General Winter?"

"He is the personification of the harsh winter that plagues Siberia every year."

"And you don't get along with him?"

"Nyet. He used to help me out in wars, but most of the time he is just a mean bully who likes to torment me and freeze my land."

"Huh, that kinda sucks. Sorry dude."

"Why do you like spring and summer?" Russia tried to change the subject.

"More or less the same reasons I guess. Only not the General Winter one, I just like spring because it means the end of winter."

America was about to ask another question when Russia put a gloved hand over his mouth. They could hear footsteps walking straight above them.

"Big brother, why do you have to be such a jerk all the time?! If I get my hands on that burger freak he will be sorry he was ever born!" sounded Belarus' muffled voice.

America gulped. He had never heard Belarus talk about him that way. Then again, she hadn't really spoken much when they met on previous encounters, it was mostly him doing the talking.

Once the footsteps distanced themselves and they heard a door being closed, the both of them released the breath they didn't even realize they had been holding. Russia was in no mood to keep talking after that.

America felt the exhaustion taking over him once more, but it was still too cold. He was unable to suppress a shiver.

Russia noticed. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then put out the candlelight.

"What're you doing?" America asked, immediately on guard.

Russia said nothing, he only acted.

America could feel a scarf being wrapped around his neck. His eyes went wide with surprise.

"Russia?" he squeaked.

"This will keep you warm." His voice was but a mere whisper.

"B-but… Isn't this like, your prized possession?"

"Da. So please be careful with it."

When the full length of the scarf was wrapped around his neck, an arm pulled him closer to the taller nation's body. America tried to protest, but he had to admit he desperately longed for a bit of warmth. Warmth Russia was willing to provide him with.

The Russian had taken one arm out of his coat, so he could wrap that part of the coat around America as well. The younger nation decided this was no time to be shy, and he used his left arm to pull Russia even closer and get rid of the remaining distance. He was glad the tall nation had gotten rid of the only light source. The two of them cuddling definitely had to be a ridiculous sight to behold.

America laid his head on Russia's chest and closed his eyes, stubbornly ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. If they were going to wait for Lithuania anyway, he might as well take a nap. Russia squeezed his shoulder and shifted into a comfy position as well. America could feel his body growing heavier.

Soon, the younger nation was fast asleep. Russia kept his eyes fixed on the trap door, but found himself greatly distracted by the curled-up youngster at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The American kind of second floor, so one floor above the ground floor.
> 
> Words:  
> Prosti: Sorry/Forgive me


	16. Those kind of places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America has a dream, and Russia has a little adventure.

America was sitting in a very cosy chair, wearing his favourite bomber jacket and being surrounded by piles and piles of juicy hamburgers. Some small part of his mind was telling him this was a dream. Well, if it was, then it was a pretty darn good one.

As he took a bite out of the first burger he could get his hands on, he noticed it had changed into a scone. He looked up to meet the vivid green eyes and caterpillar-like eyebrows of his former caretaker.

The scenery transformed in the blink of an eye. He was now wearing a very recognizable blue uniform, and Texas had been removed from the tip of his nose. England was pointing his gun at him, panting heavily.

America didn't want to be here. He had already seen this. The dream wasn't a nice one anymore.

All he could do was watch as the Brit broke down in front of him all over again.

"What happened... I remember when you were great..." He heard the words fall from his lips, unable to stop himself.

He felt his heart tighten as England sat there, crying uncontrollably. America wanted to kneel down and pull the nation close to his chest, wanted to comfort him. But he found himself stuck to the ground, unable to move a muscle.

No. This wasn't right.

Yes, America had all the right in the world to want independence, and dammit, he did _not_ regret fighting for it. But that didn't mean he was a heartless son of a bitch, he had feelings just like anybody else. It hurt him more than anyone could imagine to see his former big brother this devastated. But sometimes, nations simply _had_ to do things, take certain actions. Not for themselves, but for the greater good of their country.

Oh, why couldn't this fucking dream just be over and done with? All right already, he got the picture! He'd really hurt England, and damn did he feel like a horrible bastard for doing it. But why did he have to keep reliving this moment? The past was in the past. There was absolutely no fucking use crying over spilt milk.

America wanted to shout, wanted to cry, wanted for anything at all to _happen_ , but his dream was frozen at this particular frame. As if rubbing it in.

 _'Just look at what you've done, you asshole. England's crying and it's all YOUR fault. And you dare call yourself a hero? Don’t make me laugh._ '

Stop it…

America wanted to punch whoever the voice belonged to, but realized it was his own.

An ominous wind started blowing, making the picture fade into dust, like a sandstorm blazing through a dessert.

Your fault… Your fault… Your fault… Your fault…

America wanted to cover his ears, but he still had no control over his body. If this would keep up, he was going to break.

He then started feeling strange sensations. The wind was no longer violently destroying both his memory and sanity. Instead, now it felt like it was caressing his face and hair, in an almost loving way. The picture was still fading, but as the gentle stroking continued, his heart calmed down along with it.

America could finally move again. He turned his back to the past, and walked towards a strange ball of heat and light. The wind called for him, guided him towards the source. America smiled as he put out his arms and embraced it. The stroking never stopped.

A distant humming noise reached his ears, further relaxing his nerves. He sighed contently, and the dream died down into a state of warmth and security.

* * *

When America awoke the next morning, he found himself at the chest of a certain Russian, in his bed to boot. Both nations had wrapped their arms around each other, and the blankets had become intertwined with their tangled-up legs.

America blinked dumbly and let his gaze go up to Russia's face. The taller nation wore a blissful expression, accompanied by a relaxed smile. America could see he had surprisingly long eyelashes, which were a dark shade of grey at the base, then became lighter and lighter, and ended in white tips. One part of his mind thought he looked incredibly at peace and didn't want to wake him up, but another (bigger) part of him was seriously freaking out at their current state of being.

"Ivan," America whispered, voice sounding hoarse because of his dry throat.

Russia's eyebrow twitched. That was the only reaction he could get out of him right now. America swallowed before trying again.

" _Ivan_ ," he repeated. The American tried to wiggle his way out of the hug, but didn't succeed. Russia grumbled softly in his sleep, but didn't seem any closer to waking up. Then America remembered the new nickname he'd learnt from Ukraine. Well, it never hurt to try.

"Vanya," America said, while softly poking Russia's cheek. He was surprised with how smooth the name sounded, coming out of his mouth.

Finally, Russia stirred. He took in a big breath through his nose while leisurely stretching his fingers and toes like a cat, not changing his position. His eyes fluttered open, and the violet orbs immediately shot to the American.

"Fedya," he purred, voice still heavy with sleep. America ignored the shiver that travelled down his spine.

"Did you just call me Vanya?" the Slavic nation asked.

America blushed. He quickly changed the topic to more pressing matters.

"Why are we… you know, _hugging_ each other?"

Russia's face was impossible to read as always, hence that little smile of his that couldn't be considered an emotion.

"Last night when I woke up, you were having a bad dream, I think. I managed to calm you down, but you kept clinging to me. So, I brought you to my room, since Lithuania had already come to pick up my sister." He said it all in a matter-of-fact kind of voice, making it sound clear as day. But America was bothered by the gaps in his explanation.

"Wait, why bring me to your bed?"

Russia frowned slightly. "It was better than sleeping against cold stone wall, da? Maybe you are fine with that, but I prefer sleeping in a bed."

America nodded. All right, he could get that logic.

"But why not wake me up? I could've just as easily slept in my own bed."

"I was worried you would have bad dreams again." His face showed sincere concern. "And I do not mind you sleeping in my bed."

Only when Russia let a finger trail over his hip, did America realize they were still in a rather, um, _compromising_ position.

He pulled his arms free and quickly scooted back. He tried to roll over, but because his legs were still wrapped in the sheets, he found himself sliding over the edge of the bed and hitting the floor with a loud "Oof!" He was now lying on his back, feet still caught in the sheets and legs propped open in a very graceless manner. To make things worse, a concerned-and confused-looking Russian came peering over the edge of his bed.

"Alfred? Is everything all right?"

America's legs came together on their own accord as he propped himself up his elbows.

"Could you give me Texas? We need to talk."

Russia raised an eyebrow but nodded. He disappeared for a second or two, three, before his face came back into America's peripheral vision. The younger nation gratefully accepted his glasses and slid them on, while trying to untangle his legs. Russia wanted to help him, but America swatted his hands away. The look in those violet spheres was one of the utmost confusion.

When America was finally free again, he pulled up a chair and placed it so it was standing directly opposite of the other nation. America sat down and put his hands in his lap, trying to look as serious as possible. Russia's eyes were big and almost cartoonish.

"Look. I know you haven't really had any friends before-" Russia visibly winced at his harsh words, but didn't speak up. "-but you do know that friends don't always sleep together, right?"

Russia cocked his head. How did America expect him to know that? He only had a little experience with friendship, and America had been the one to come to _him_ last time they'd slept in the same bed.

America sighed when he saw the look on Russia's face. He didn't want to have this talk, but Russia had to learn there were certain boundaries.

"Look here. It's perfectly fine to share a bed sometimes. _But_ -" He pointed his index finger at Russia's oversized nose. He ignored the blush that threatened to break out, and continued his speech. "There are rules when sharing a bed with a friend. First rule, no cuddling. At least not with me. I dunno how others think about it, but for me, cuddling is reserved for… special people."

Russia pouted. He liked cuddling. And what did America mean, “how others think about it”? Did that mean different people had different rules? Huh, relationships were even more difficult than the Internet wanted to make him believe.

America swallowed heavily. "Number two. N-no… Shit, how do I say this…"

Russia watched with interest as America's ears turned red.

"Okay, I'm just gonna say it." America took a deep breath and puffed his chest out, as if ready to start shouting. Russia prepared himself for it, but all that came out was a squeaky, trembling little voice. "N-no touching in inappropriate places."

Huh? What did America mean by that?

Then he noticed the American clutching his fists to his sides, as if protecting his hips.

  1. _Oh_. Those kind of 'inappropriate places'. Russia chuckled and smiled, successfully hiding his discomfort.



"If you say so, Fedya." Luckily, Russia was very good at disguising his real emotions, so the sentence had come out perfectly normal. On the inside, his heart was beating rapidly as memories of Catherine the Great kept flashing in front of his inner eye.

America jumped up. "Right then! Now that we're clear, I'm gonna go get changed and eat some breakfast!"

And with that he dashed out of the room, leaving Russia alone with his thoughts. Which was a very good thing indeed. Because the images of his deflowerization were now being replaced by new images. Instead of a blundering inexperienced younger Russia falling prey to his crazy boss, he had switched places. Only, Catherine wasn't Catherine anymore. As Russia's imaginary hands explored the body beneath him, his eyes met with the fierce blue ones of America.

Russia was blushing heavily. Why on earth was he thinking about that? Still, his fantasy wouldn't stop. He found himself touching the American in some _very_ inappropriate places, playing with him until the younger nation was a needy mess, shivering under his touch. Heath pooled to his crotch. Russia's breath caught as he looked down at himself.

He had just gotten hard from thinking about America. Well, this was certainly an interesting development. Apparently it was possible for him to get turned-on by thinking about his friend. He was definitely going to do some research on that later on. Right now however, his mind was a bit preoccupied.

Russia shyly glanced around, partially hiding his face in his scarf (which he had recollected from the American once they got to his bed), as if expecting the walls to judge him for what was to come. He briefly remembered to lock the door. He would literally die of embarrassment if America were to walk in on him doing something so intimate.

The ashen blond sat back down on the edge of his bed and slowly pulled down his pants. He hadn't touched himself in a very long time, and certainly not while imagining America being there with him. He hesitated, but decided it was better to get this over with now than perhaps having it return later on, probably at a very inconvenient moment.

Russia's hand crept down almost absentmindedly while his fantasy went back to the previous images. America, lying naked amidst of a bed of sunflowers, his sun-kissed skin matching perfectly with the yellow and brown of the lovely flowers.

Russia shuddered as his hand reached his arousal. He swallowed before he began to slowly stroke up and down. He imagined doing the same to America. Hearing his little yelps and whimpers fill his ears, forming a lovely symphony. Russia moaned and tilted his head back, eyes shut firmly and blush spreading to his ears and neck. He let his thumb tease the head of his cock, and shuddered violently.

The image changed. Now, America was on his knees, smirking while he took Russia's length in his mouth.

"Aah… Alfred!" he moaned loudly. He realized that if America were to stand just outside of his room, he would hear him. Russia also realized he couldn't care less at the moment.

He felt himself getting closer to release, and sped up his movements. His breath hitched as he imagined the American licking and kissing the tip of his manhood. This last visual soon sent him over the edge. He bit his lip as waves of pleasure wash over his body. Afterwards, he fell back on the mattress, panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

He studied the evidence of his satisfaction that was sticking to his fingers. He felt a little ashamed, but mostly glad to have gotten rid of his little problem.

Know that Russia had no idea why America of all people had popped up in his head to replace his former boss. For all he knew, other nations used each other as fodder for their dirty fantasies all the time. Maybe that was just another part of what being friends was all about. Of course, he still felt embarrassed enough to not tell anything about it to the younger nation, but the feeling that dominated his mind was curiosity. How far were friends allowed to go? Was this how 'normal' nations felt? Did he himself agree with doing this? And he felt oh so naïve, not even knowing whether or not this behaviour was considered right or wrong.

He didn't have enough knowledge about social standards to provide himself with answers. Instead, he decided to just take a quick shower and forget about it. He was going to look around on the Internet about this at a later time.

Russia would have never related this little adventure to the little excited flops his heart had started making every time he thought about the American nation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I didn't confuse you guys with how Russia thinks about sex. Remember: he has only done it once, under rather unusual circumstances (his boss forcing him to). So that's why he doesn't relate fantasizing about someone to being in love with (or at least attracted to) them. You'll have to keep reading if you want to know when he does find out.


	17. Shouldn't have done that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia discovers the special brownies from Prussia.

With a satisfied sigh, America opened the door to his home in Chicago, Illinois. It was his biggest house next to the ones in Washington D.C. and his plantation home in South Carolina (he had one abode in every single state), but the first house was only used for political purposes, so he didn't exactly feel like taking Russia there. On top of that, Tony was currently occupying the one in South Carolina. He did have an apartment in L.A. (which would've been a lot more convenient to stay at since the greenhouse America wanted to show his friend was situated in California), but said apartment had absolutely no room for guests. Hence the choice of this estate.

"I'll show you to your room, so you can get rid of those bags," America said in a chipper voice to his companion.

He hadn't visited this house in quite a while, since it was too big for one single guy. The building seemed to welcome him like a long-forgotten friend. He took a deep breath. The walls and furniture had the scent of the city – his city – , they smelt of parks, the pier, animals, the busy city life, his favourite hamburgers (all of his houses smelt like hamburgers), of trade, history, knowledge, technology and nature. But most of all, the house smelt of energy. An energy born from the combination of both a very lively American nation and a thriving economy, finished off with a rich culture.

Russia followed him up the stairs like a little duckling did his mother. His big shining eyes were filled with childish curiosity. After all, he'd only been in more north-eastern situated states.

The house was rather modern, not as new and stylish as the one in New York, but still. The walls were painted a deep night blue, and Christmas lights hung from the ceiling as a funny replacement for regular lights. Instead of old photographs and family pictures, the walls beside the staircase were covered in posters and funny quotes (Russia didn't know who these 'Blues Brothers' were supposed to be, but America apparently liked them a lot).

The younger nation led him through a long hallway, and opened the door on the far left.

"This is you, big guy!" He stepped aside so Russia could peek inside.

The room was big and bright, bathing in an orange early-evening sunlight. A double-sized bed which was made with warm yellow covers stood in the centre of the room, looking very alluring after a long flight.

"So, whaddaya think?"

Russia sent him a smile. "I like it very much. Spasiba, Alfred."

America shot him a big toothy grin before pointing over his shoulder.

"That's me. Bathroom's in there, and that room is none of your business." He said it in a playful tone, but his eyes flashed 'keep out'.

Russia nodded, showing he understood the warning. However, that didn't keep him from wondering just what secrets the American was hiding in that room.

"Right. I'm gonna take a quick shower now, you can watch some TV or somethin'. I'll be back in a jiffy!"

Russia stared at the smaller nation until he shut the door of his bedroom behind him. The Russian turned around and entered his temporary room. He dropped his bags on the floor and walked over to the window. He pulled it open with little force and looked outside.

The house was situated on the outskirts of the city. This made for a perfect view of the skyline, and the possibility to have a rather large garden. The grass had grown high, probably due to the owner not being able to come here that often. It did give the garden a more homey feel to it. There was a pool, some bushes and a couple of flower patches.

Russia decided to take America's advice to heart and go watch some television. He went downstairs and into the living room. The walls here were a slightly lighter tint of blue, and stars and planets were painted on the ceiling. Russia would have deemed them childish drawings if he hadn’t known about America's love for the outer space. There was a large LCD screen hanging from the wall, precisely in the middle of the room. Before he could position himself on the couch, he noticed the basket of brownies sitting innocently on the coffee table. They had gone a bit dry, but still looked rather tasty. He curiously read the note that was still attached to it.

 _'Why does Prussia need to take care of Alfred's brother?_ ' he thought. If the Prussian were to somehow cause trouble for his Fedya, he would be happy to squish him under his booth. But if the brownies were from Prussia, then surely America wouldn't mind him having a taste, right? Food that came from the egocentric nation could not be trusted in Russia's eyes.

So, without giving it a second thought, he took a brownie and sunk his teeth in it.

* * *

America walked into the living room to be met with a very unexpected sight. Russia was sitting on his couch with his feet resting on the coffee table, and was watching South Park. But that wasn't even the strange part. Russia had this weird look in his eyes, and he was giggling like a lunatic at every little thing the cartoon characters said or did.

"Um… Ivan? You all right there bud?"

Russia slowly looked over at him, a lazy grin on his face.

"Privet dorogoy," he said in a low voice, before bursting into another giggle fit.

Now America was starting to get seriously worried. Not that he didn't find the whole situation hilarious, but what on earth was wrong with his guest?

Russia brought his hand to his mouth, ready to take a bite out of something. America's arm shot out and he gripped the Russian's wrist tightly.

"Heey~" Russia pouted.

What was that brown thing he was eating? Then, his eyes shot to the basket still lying on the table.

"Holy Shit. Ivan, you're high."

"So~?"

It took America only a moment. Then, his lips slid into a goofy grin.

"Mind if I join you?"

* * *

The American and the Russian were spread over the surface of the couch. Russia was on his back with one leg dangling over the back of the couch, while America had occupied the floor next to the piece of furniture. Russia's right hand was loosely tied up in America's hair, and the younger nation was too out of it to mind. The South Park marathon was still playing, but they weren't paying much attention. The nations were in fact trying and failing to have an intelligent conversation.

"So, cows would totally rule as pets. They can give milk when you're thirsty, and you can make burgers out of 'em when you're hungry!" America proclaimed with a victorious glitter in his eyes.

"Fedya, if you make burgers out of a cow, the cow dies."

"Oh… You're right Vanya, guess they would be bad pets if they died that quickly, huh?"

The both of them laughed for a couple of minutes.

"Snow would be a good pet. You can drink and eat it, and it does not die."

"Vanya, only animals can be pets."

"Says who?"

"…Point taken." America had no idea what the point was again, but to him it sounded like the logical thing to say.

They watched the show some more, and then America raised his left arm.

"…What are you doing?" Russia asked, eyeing the arm with great interest.

"I wanna bet you for something."

"Oh?"

"Be right back."

Russia did his best not to whine when the smaller nation untangled his hair from the Russian's fingers, and staggered out of the room. He sighed, and tried to count the little planets on the ceiling. It didn't help that those stupid stars kept spinning. Just what exactly was in those brownies? Ex-brownies was a better term, seeing as the two of them had eaten the entire batch. If snow melted, could it be considered ex-snow? He should look that up later. And buy a cow for America.

"Look here big guy!"

Russia started. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't even noticed America returning. And what exactly was he trying to show him?

The ashen blond pushed himself in a sitting position and peered at the unidentified object dangling from the other's hands. America was grinning like a maniac. Then, a flash of recognition showed on the older nation's face.

"Nyet."

"Aw, come on dude!"

"No, Alfred. I am not putting that on."

"Please?" America tried his puppy eyes, but Russia was determined. He crossed his arms and shook his head. He was not going to put on a pink dress with flowers and frilly things. Russia wasn't even going to ask why he had that thing.

America pouted. "Come on, I wanted to dare you! It would be totally awesome!"

"Nyet," Russia spat.

America went silent for a bit. Then, he slightly looked up, eyes glistening with tears. Was America crying? Why?

"Please? You'll be my bestest friend. And you'll only prove how strong and cool and awesome you are, and how much of an amazing friend you make."

Russia wanted to resist. He had to, for the sake of not only himself, but for the dignity of the Russian Federation. But when America was throwing in their friendship as an argument, his resistance began to waver.

"Nyet," he repeated, but this time in a much softer and less secure voice.

America noticed the change and immediately went for the kill.

"You'll gain all of my respect. I'll make it so that if you open a dictionary, your name will be under the definition of friendship. You'd like that, right?"

Were he sober, or whatever you called it when you weren't on drugs, he would have seen through the lies. But right now, he only heard flattery and a chance at getting something he truly wanted.

So, he dropped his guard. Russia reluctantly lowered his head in defeat, and gave a short nod.

Before he knew it, America was all over him.

"Wait!" Russia yelped as America tugged at his shirt. He blushed when the piece of clothing was removed without any effort, and stopped the nation when he wanted to start working on his pants.

"I can do that myself," he huffed. Russia pushed the American off, who toppled over and landed on the ground in an inelegant mess of limbs and cloth. He chuckled and removed his pants. He would have been a lot shyer under normal circumstances, but at this moment there seemed nothing wrong with being dressed in only his underwear and scarf.

"If it rips, it is not my fault," the Russian warned, before he carefully tried to wiggle his way into the dress.

America had successfully lifted himself from the ground, and was now at Russia's side, helping him stick his arms in the short sleeves. Both men pulled on the skirt until it was all the way down. A zipper went up, and Russia had successfully put on a girly pink dress.

America just stared at him. Russia smiled uncomfortably.

"What?"

"…Dude. _Dude_."

Russia frowned. Now he was getting concerned. "Is something wrong?"

Without a warning, America started pushing him towards the hallway. "Dude, you gotta see this for yourself."

"Where are we going?" Russia giggled as he was herded up the stairs.

"Bedroom, you need a mirror right now."

Russia obediently let himself be guided to America's bedroom. His hazed mind was finding the whole situation very amusing.

Once in the bedroom, America pulled on the door of his closet to reveal a hidden mirror. He placed his guest in front of it, and awaited his reaction.

Russia was stunned. Staring back at him was a tall man with pale skin, silvery hair, and a pink dress. The dress was just a little tight around his chest and showed a bit too much of his legs, but otherwise it fit almost perfectly. Other than the fact that it looked absolutely ridiculous on him.

"Now you're really Mother Russia!" America said. He wasn't going admit that Russia in a dress was probably the cutest thing he had ever seen. In a very weird way, but still.

Russia started giggling uncontrollably. He had to clutch his stomach and grab the closet door in order not to lose his balance. He noticed America filming him with a camera, but was laughing too hard to do anything about it. And frankly, he didn't care.

At least not for now.

* * *

Russia woke up with a gigantic headache. He grumbled and tried to go back to sleep, but the throbbing was keeping him from doing so. He slowly opened his eyes, frowning at the morning sun creeping through the curtains. At first he didn't remember where he was, but then the memories flooded back into his consciousness. He was lying on the ground in America's living room. He couldn't really recall how they had ended up there, partially due to the headache that kept him from concentrating, but he was sure it would all return to him soon.

Russia looked around and saw America sprawled over the counter of his own kitchen. The tall nation chuckled, softly, because his throat hurt quite a lot.

When Russia tried to get up, he saw it.

Pink. Very pink. Hipster pink, as Poland would call it.

But that was not the worst part.

Because he wasn't looking at himself.

He was looking at the screen of the laptop that was standing on the ground next to him. The site opened was HetaTube. And the video that had been paused showed a very stoned Russia, wearing a dress.

America didn't. He wouldn't dare. He. Had. Not. Done. This. And how did it already have 301.787 views and 212 likes?!

Russia's eyes shot to the comment section.

 **IamAwesome777:** OMG most hilarius shit evah! Cummie pig did not do zat!

 **Pink4EVER:** bitch looks tots fab in dress!

 **URallJRKS:** idiota = drugged? XD

 **TomatoesRULE:** **@** URallJRKS: u look kjoeter wen drunk 3

 **URallJRKS:** **@** TomatoesRULE: SHUT UP BSTRD

 **YaoiLvr:** u have copy?

 **AnimeFan:** 4 me too plz.

 **SexyRose:** so sexy!

 **MapleLover4:** Alfred when did u film this?

 **SexyRose:** **@** MapleLover4: who r u?

Russia felt his eye twitch. The comments just kept going. Luckily, he knew Belarus didn't have an account for this site, so at least she was no threat. He slowly rose to his feet, not hindered by the dress he was still wearing. He casually walked over to where the American was still fast asleep. But after a moment's thought, he changed directions.

He was going to need his pipe for this.

…

America opened his eyes when he heard a strange chanting, almost like someone summoning the devil. England wasn't visiting, was he? A quick scan of the room told the American his favourite Englishman was nowhere to be found. The sound was coming from the hallway.

America stretched his sore muscles. His back was killing him from sleeping on the counter!

And then he froze.

In the doorway stood a demon coming from the deepest, darkest pits of hell. Wearing a pink dress. And wielding a dangerously swinging pipe.

"Russia?!" America shrieked, forgetting to use his human name. One look at his laptop told him all he needed to know.

He ran as fast as his just-awoken ass could carry him.

KOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOL

America felt tears streaming down his eyes as he fled into the garden. "I'm sooooooooooooorryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" he whined. Russia was gaining on him fast, and he had no intention to be knocked into the hospital. Or worse.

"Amerika~" Russia sung in a devilish voice, making the pursued scream like a little girl.

America sprinted around his house before re-entering. He had an idea, but he would need his wallet for this.

America leapt up the stairs, ignoring the sound of a madman tantalizingly close on his heels. The American dashed into his bedroom, scooped up the wallet and phone that were randomly lying on his night stand, and did the first thing that came to mind.

He jumped out of his window.

Russia had not expected this action, and paused for just a moment. That was all America needed to safely escape, for he had landed on his feet.

When the older nation followed his lead, the American nation was already long gone. He had ran across his garden, jumped over the fence, and dashed to the bus that was conveniently waiting at the bus stop right then. America gave himself no time to rejoice in his Indiana Jones-like actions as he got on the bus and told the driver to "DRIVE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DRIVE!"

Russia slammed against the doors the moment they closed, accompanied by an all-out evil grin and a very menacing aura. The driver went wide-eyed with fear and did as he was told. The passengers screamed when they saw the pink demon running along with the retreating bus, getting ready to hit the windows with his faucet.

"He's gaining on us!" a woman shrieked before passing out.

The driver pushed the gas pedal all the way down, and finally they could see Russia's figure becoming smaller and finally disappearing in the distance. America let himself slump on the ground while panting heavily. The driver and passengers were all traumatized.

"Who the hell was that? What just happened?!" the driver asked him in a shaky voice.

"Don't ask," America managed to croak.

When the American finally regained his composure, he pulled out his phone and dialled a number. It went over five times before someone took the call.

"United Kingdom speaking."

"Iggy, I need a place to hide. ASAP."


	18. Hey Mister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America flees to London, and Russia meets a peculiar boy.

"Alfred, are you all right?" England asked as soon as he opened the door.

America sighed and let himself be guided into the house. He had chosen to run to England's because there was now the relative safety of an ocean separating him from the angry Russian. He knew there was someone else he could have gone to, he just couldn't remember who at the moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then why did you sound so distressed over the phone, and why did you ask me whether or not you could hide here?"

America's grin was a lot less goofy than usually the case. "Long story I guess."

England pushed his ex-brother down in a chair and went to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate milk. In the past, whenever the young America got upset, he always made the child some cocoa. The boy would then add marshmallows and whipped cream, and for once England wouldn't berate him for his bad manners. That whipped cream-moustache of his was just too precious. Today though, he only had cognac to add. Not that the American was about to complain.

England seated himself across of the younger nation and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Now tell me. What did you do this time?"

America put down his mug and frowned. "You haven't been online yet today, have you?"

The Brit shook his head. Where was this going?

"Well… I kinda filmed Russia while we were doing somethin' lame and put it on HetaTube, and now he's sorta major pissed at me."

"Language," England absentmindedly lectured him. America's vocabulary got a lot more urban when he was stressed. His brows knit together as he took in this new information. "Wait… You were with Russia?"

"Oh yeah, guess you didn't know that one yet. Russia and I are kinda like friends now, and he's staying at my place at the moment."

England's eyes widened. America being friends with Russia? How in the Queen's name was that even possible? Sure, he had seen them together quite often in Florence, but he'd thought that was because they were roommates, and therefore the younger nation had been forced to spend time with the Russian.

England narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "…He isn't threatening you, is he? Just say something along the lines of 'I have a craving for snails' if he is. Or did he install a microphone on you?" England definitely needed to lay down on the detective novels.

America spat out his milk. Once the coughing ceased, he grinned. "Him threatening _me_? No way dude, we're just buddies! And even if he was threatening me, I can take him on any day! And seriously, why snails?"

England was not reassured. "It is just hard to imagine you two being friendly to each other after the Cold War, among others."

"Pfft, nah. No way. That's already like how many years ago? We're totally over that."

England stared at him, still disbelieving his words. America sighed again.

"Look, I swear I'm telling the truth. We've just found out we have a lot we can talk about without getting into a fight! Once you get to know him better, he's actually kind of a cool guy! And I swear there's no microphones."

"And yet you're hiding from him," England commented in a sarcastic voice.

"Yeah, well… That was my mistake. I did something I shouldn't have, and he got angry. But it's no biggie. If I can just stay here for say an x amount of days, I'm sure he'll cool down."

However, while he was saying this so confidently, he felt a twinge of unease in the back of his mind. What if it _was_ a big deal? What if he had successfully ruined their friendship? America didn't know how forgiving (or not-forgiving) the guy could be, not with the way he always hid his feelings behind a creepy smile. When he thought about losing Russia as a friend, a hollow feeling settled in his stomach. No. He wasn't going to allow that to happen.

England studied him for a few seconds before begrudgingly admitting defeat.

"All right then lad. If you're certain it's going to be fine, I guess all I can do is trust in you handling things yourself. But Alfred-" The Englishman reached across the table and squeezed America's hand in his own. "Do be careful. It's still Russia we're talking about, he is not one to be taken lightly. If he ever bothers you, know you can rely on me to beat his arse all the way to the sun." It was clear the Brit was more than a little wary of the Russian nation.

"Hakuna Matata Iggy, I got it all covered!"

England gave him a cynical little smile, but left his hand lying on top of America's. He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

"Iggy? Something wrong?"

England snapped back to the present. His smile was now apologetic and he straightened his figure, pulling back his arm. "Nothing for you to be concerned about. Just some problems of my own I have to deal with."

The conversation with Canada back at the hotel in Florence suddenly popped up. Right, he'd almost forgotten about that, he had promised his brother he'd talk to England! But the American wasn't going to interrogate his former caretaker right this moment. That could wait. He could see England was worrying enough on his own without others intervening. And here people were saying America couldn't read the atmosphere! Hah, this certainly proved them wrong!

"Want to watch a flick?" the American asked, once again breaking England away from his epiphany or whatever he was having right now.

The Brit exhaled thoughtfully. "As long as it's not horror."

* * *

The door creaked when England softly pushed it open. A sliver of light fell over the American's face, who stirred in his sleep but didn't wake up. England's cat-like eyes were almost fluorescent in the darkness of the room as he observed his former colony. When he sensed the sunny blond was sleeping soundly, he shut the door again and left for his own room. Once there, he kept walking until he reached the balcony connected to his bedroom. He leant against the railing, and let out an exasperated sigh.

Ever since leaving the hotel a couple of days ago, the conversation with the frog had never fully left his mind. While he had desperately tried to ignore it, the words just kept spinning through his head.

So he was supposed to be in love, huh? Utterly oblivious to his own feelings?

 _'We'll see about that._ '

* * *

Russia was in a bad mood. And that was the understatement of the century.

He had managed to delete the video from HetaTube, after which he sent everybody a polite threatening mail, telling them that if they'd seen the video and didn't erase the contents from their memories this instant, he would personally come to their houses and enjoy slowly torturing them to insanity. He sincerely hoped they would get the idea. Afterwards he had ritually burnt that forsaken pink dress to get rid of the evidence, and smashed America's laptop to smithereens. He felt the American deserved that. Russia still had another punishment in mind, but that one required said American to be present. So, he would just have to wait for his friend to return to his house. In the meantime, he felt like going outside to get rid of his anger.

The Russian decided to go visit the city and do a bit of sightseeing. He made sure to bring one of America's credit cards (which he found hidden in the fridge for whatever reason). That would teach him.

The Slavic nation called a taxi and waited for it to arrive just outside the front door. As soon as it was there, he casually walked over and got in the passenger's seat.

"Where to?" the driver grumbled. He hadn't had his coffee that morning and now there was some amethyst-eyed freak dressed in winter clothing in his car.

"Oh, I don't know~ Just take me into town, yes?" Russia hummed happily, giving a next to perfect imitation of an American accent.

The driver was about to snap at him for wasting his time by being as vague as humanly possible, when he noticed the gloomy aura surrounding him. He gulped and with a terrified "right away sir!" he sped off. The Russian had once again succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of one of America's citizens. Maybe it was about time to start up a counter? That would bring the total amount to twenty-nine; the cab driver, the bus driver and his passengers, the staff at the airport, and a lady who had wanted to ask America for directions. And most of those scares were done unintentionally.

Russia was dropped off at a large mall (and the driver hadn't the guts to refuse his foreign Russian Rubles) where he decided to go do some shopping at America's expense.

First he ate away the rest of his 'hangover' at a little café. With the way he smiled at the waiter, they decided not to charge him for his food. Well wasn't that nice of them!

After lunch he visited the book store. This store had a more intimate feeling than the others in the mall. Russia loved to read, so he hoped he could find something that was to his liking. He hummed in appreciation when his gaze fell upon a sunflower-shaped bookmark. That was definitely coming with him.

He scanned the books for something worth his (America's) money. The ashen blond stopped at a book named 'Fifty Shades of America'. He had already heard about this new series 'Fifty Shades of Grey', and wondered if it were anything like that. He hoped not. Because that would be wrong, very wrong.

Shy but curious, he pulled the book out of the rack and read the info on the backflip.

_The United States of America, a country of both equality and diversity. Discover the fifty states along with famous documentary-maker Steve Larkin, and get to know the many shades of the Stars and Stripes._

Oh, those fifty. Russia felt oddly relieved when he finished reading the description. But also a little sad, because he was now reminded of the absence of his friend. Yes, the younger nation had gone too far, and Russia was still mad at him (although his anger had been largely subdued since that morning), but he also hoped the American was going to be there waiting for him once he got back to the house. Because what was the point in going to America without being in the company of its personification?

Russia resolutely put the bookmark in between the pages and decided upon buying both, before stepping out into the mall again.

 _'Where to go now?_ ' he thought while looking around, desperate for a distraction. He shouldn't return to the house until this evening, that would give America enough time to calm down as well.

"Hey mister!"

"Hm?" Russia spun on his heels to see a boy about half his size standing at his feet. He looked like he was still in elementary school but gave the impression of someone in his early teens, had a very pale skin, light white-ish blond hair, and cold blue eyes with a twinge of lavender that reminded of winter somehow, and looked wise beyond their age.

"Why are you wearing a scarf, a trench coat and gloves? It's hot out here!"

Russia curiously tilted his head, surprised that the youngster could speak to him so openly while adults tended to avoid coming near him at all costs. All except for Belarus, and now America as well…

He was pulled back to reality by an impatient tug at his sleeve. "Mister, are you all right?"

Russia smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way. Friendly or not, the youngster's facial expression remained the exact same. "Da, I am fine. And I do not take off these clothes because they are part of my body, you understand little one?"

The boy looked like he didn't believe him for one second.

"What country are you from?" he asked, but for some reason it sounded like he already knew what the answer was going to be.

"I am R- from Russia, da." Russia bit his tongue for almost slipping up. Even though he would love to see the kid's reaction to him being a country, the secret was not his to give away.

The young boy furrowed his brow in a way that reminded Russia of a certain British nation.

"Well, it's nice meeting you again Mr. Russia. I'm Nikolai. And no need to lie, I can see you from my house, you know."

Russia's eyes grew wide with realization. He opened his mouth and was about to speak when a voice interrupted him.

"Nikkie, stop bothering the poor man and get back here!"

Russia looked up to see an adolescent woman with long brown hair and very familiar blue eyes. She appeared too young to take care of a boy Nikolai's age, but the kid apologized to the tall nation and ran back to her side. The woman looked Russia dead in the eye and flashed him a brilliant grin. He sheepishly waved back at them, before the two turned around and left the building.

Little Alaska had grown a lot since Russia had last seen him. He wondered how he hadn't immediately recognized the boy. And that while Alaska had known it was him all along.

Oh well. At least now he knew not all of America's 'inhabitants' were rude and easily frightened by his mere existence. Russia hid his face in his scarf as a warm feeling spread through his body. He felt extremely happy after seeing the boy again.

Maybe today could get better after all.

* * *

After visiting a couple of museums Russia decided it was time to head home. He had also encountered an aquarium and a planetarium, but he knew visiting those would be more fun with America by his side, so he would keep those for later. Now it was almost six pm, and the tall nation hoped his host would be waiting for him. This time he had stopped at an exchange service so he could pay the cab driver in dollars (not that the man would have refused anything coming from him). He picked up his bag, rushed to the front door, and pushed it open.

"Alfred? I am back!"

No response. Just to be sure Russia looked through all the rooms, before coming to the conclusion that the American nation wasn't here. But it was still early in the evening, maybe he would come back at a later time. In the meantime, Russia cooked himself some dinner (soup from a can, America really needed to do groceries more often). After that, he searched through his dvd-collection, which was in a word gigantic. After skimming through a shelf of horror, some action and adventure, a couple of cartoons and some westerns, Russia found something called _Transformers._ The nation had a good laugh out of that film, how could anyone take this seriously? And Russia was almost certain there were no gigantic morphing robots in space. At least he hadn't ever encountered any.

America still hadn't returned. Maybe he thought Russia needed some time alone. That was nice of him. Russia decided to call it an early night and went to bed.

' _Tomorrow_ ,' he thought. _'Tomorrow he'll come._ ' And with those thoughts he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> America sort of adopted (read: bought) Alaska from Russia, and that's a historical fact.


	19. Cry your heart out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America talks with England, and the Bad Touch Trio meet up to eat tapas and drown their sorrow in booze.

America was watching England think.

After breakfast and doing the dishes, the Brit had suddenly gone quiet and his eyes glazed over, lost in another world. America figured now was as good a time as any to ask him whether or not he loved France. He didn't really feel like he had any business imposing on England's love life, but his brother had almost begged him, and he couldn't ignore the promise he made him. A hero always lives up to his word.

America still had difficulty picturing the Frenchman together with his former caretaker. They got into fights all the time, and as far as America knew, they could hardly stand each other. But the American had to admit he was pretty bad at love and all that jazz. Well, not exactly bad at love (he loved romance every now and then), but at noticing it. He had been the last to know that Germany and Veneziano had gotten together, that Sweden wasn't kidding when he called Finland his wife. He had only recently discovered how at ease his friend Japan was around Greece, not to mention the situation with his brother and Prussia. Maybe it was the same for England and France?

America sat up straight. He was going to ask England, but he was going to do it nice and slow, make the Englishman feel at ease, and not be blunt about it.

"What's the deal with you and France?"

…Subtlety had never been his greatest asset.

England's emerald eyes moved from the window to the American seated on his couch. He had been watching the raindrops sliding down the window glass, merging together to make syrup-like rivers and complicated sketches.

"Sorry lad, didn't hear you there. What did you want to say?"

America took a deep breath and repeated his question. "What's going on with you and Francis?"

Time ticked by as England's eyes widened. He blinked two-three times, letting the words settle in his mind. "…What do you mean by that?"

America leant forward on the couch, placing his elbows on top of his knees and folding his hands together to rest his chin on them. "I spoke with Francis the day you left the hotel. By the way, you could've at least told me you were going, but I guess that's beside the point. I asked him where you were and he said you were gone, and then I asked him why and he said something like 'It's a long story', but then he said-"

"Slow down Alfred, I cannot follow your ramblings."

America slowed his pace just a little bit. "-so he said to ask Mattie, and I ask him 'why Mattie?', and he's like 'Canada is smarter than he looks' or somethin' like that. So I go to Matthew – and I'm not gonna tell you who he was with, because that's something between us brothers – but anyway-"

England had given up on trying to follow him, and just waited for the younger nation to get to the point. America could really mess up his speech when he had to give an explanation. England remembered one time back when the blond was still a boy. He had gone to a village because he was curious about his citizens. Somehow, he had angered one of the locals, and England had to apologize to the man for causing him trouble. He then lectured America about being careful around the mortals. However, when he asked the boy what had happened, America told him a vague story that included talking fish and a rabid buffalo. Up to this day, England hadn't the slightest clue as to what exactly happened that day.

England didn't realize he had zoned out until America was waving a hand in front of his face. What was wrong with him nowadays? Normally he always paid attention to whoever was speaking to him. Zoning out was America's job. And yet, here he was, having to ask the younger nation to repeat his last words. If only the frog hadn't confessed to him, his thoughts wouldn't be so out of order.

America let out an exasperated sigh as he repeated his question. "Seriously Iggy, I'm talking about serious stuff here! So, Matthew told me that France is in love with you. And guessing from Francis' behaviour that morning, he confessed to you. Now, could you please tell me your side of the story? What happened? Why did you leave? Did he do anything to you, or…"

England groaned. Why did the American have to be informed about it? This would only further complicate things.

"No Alfred, he did not do anything to me." Technically he did, but England was going to spare America of that part of the story. "If you must know, the frog indeed told me he loves me."

The blue-eyed nation, for once patient, waited for him to continue. When the Brit remained silent, he softly spoke. "So… What did you say to him?"

England sighed. "I told him I would have to think about it."

America nodded. "…And did you?"

England growled and scowled at him. "Alfred, as far as I know, my love life is none of your business."

America put his hands up in the air as a sign of reconciliation. "Fine, I won't ask! No need to get you panties in a twist!"

This earned him a sarcastic smirk from the Englishman. At moments like these it became apparent who had raised the American nation.

The mood became tranquil once more. America had kept his word to his brother; he had asked his former caretaker about the situation with France. Now it was up to them to sort the whole thing out. He did worry for England, but he wasn't going to push him any more than he already had. It wasn't like the Brit was in any real danger, and he hadn't asked America for help. Right now, England didn't need the United States of America, self-proclaimed saviour of all man-kind. He needed Alfred F. Jones to stop bothering him and maybe help take his mind off of things. And that was precisely what America intended to do as long as he was here.

"Wanna go grab some ice cream?"

"Alfred, you just ate less than an hour ago."

"…So?"

England sighed. "Fine. But you'll have to pay for it yourself."

* * *

France stared at the wine glass in his hand, filled with a ruby red liquid he had grown to be quite fond of over the centuries.

England hadn't contacted him yet. And France could only account that to his own stupidity.

Because why on earth did he have to go and mess everything up by confessing? They would have been fine without his slip of the tongue (if you could call it that). They had enjoyed each other's company all these years (the fighting was only an amicable teasing), and if France hadn't confessed, they would have just kept going on like that for the decades that were still to come. England being oblivious to his feelings, but at least staying his friend. The Frenchman had always thought he was content with their established relationship, so why had he suddenly snapped? Why now of all times? Why had he been unable to hold himself back?

France took a sip. He would love to drown his sorrow in the alcohol, but that would be a waste of good wine. The drink didn't deserve to be punished for his own stupidity.

Because of what he'd done, he had lost England as a friend. Why else would England “need time to think”, and then return to a state of splendid isolation? France couldn't blame him. But that didn't mean he was any less heartbroken.

The sound of a pebble ticking against the window pulled him out of his depressing reminiscence. He unwillingly got up and moved to look outside. Two people were standing at his front door.

"Yo Francy-pants! Open up, will ya!" an albino yelled at him. He wasn't _exactly_ an albino, but they referred to him that way to make things easier.

"We have come with a pañuelo and some comfort food!" the Spaniard next to him added, waving excitedly at the blond staring down at them.

France smiled painfully. His friends always arrived right when he needed them most. He quickly went downstairs to let them in.

"Gilbert. Antonio. How did you know I was in desperate need for some company?"

Prussia grinned widely. "That's our sixth sense of course! I am too awesome to not know it when a friend of mine needs help!"

He cackled gleefully while Spain gave France a handkerchief. "We heard what happened with Arthur. Now let us in so you can cry your heart out while I make tapas!"

France guided the two to his kitchen, where the Bad Touch Trio sat down on the ground and opened up some booze, not even bothering to take a seat at the table. Last time they had done this was when Austria had gotten married to Hungary for the first time. France and Spain had helped Prussia through the night with comforting words, jokes (because laughing makes the world go round), a lot of alcohol and horrible soap dramas.

Now, the blond, the brunette and the (almost) white-haired one were passing down tequila, beer and wine, along with some cubes of cheese, slices of sausage and anchovies on a stick combined with filled olives. Spain and Prussia had made a silent pact not to mention England ‘til France brought him up himself. So far he hadn't done that, wanting to focus on less important matters for the time being.

"And West totally thought all those condoms were mine! You guys should've seen the look on my Bruder's face when he found out they were Feliciano's!" Prussia cackled.

Spain hiccupped and France laughed his Ohonhonhonhon-laugh.

"Mon petit Feli is not as innocent as he seems," France said. "But I must say he had a great teacher~"

Spain spilled his drink and Prussia was rolling over the floor, laughing maniacally and clutching his stomach. Gilbird had flown up to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling and was now seated next to Pierre the dove. The two birds watched their owners with little interest, wanting some rest for a change.

"Oh, that's right. I haven't had the chance to ask you yet. Gilbert, have you made any progress with your feelings regarding a certain Austrian?"

Prussia stopped laughing, but Spain's laughter only increased.

"Right, amigo! He hasn't told you yet!"

France cocked an eyebrow. "What has our dear friend not told me?"

Prussia's cheeks coloured a light pink. France's eyes grew wide as he leant closer to the Prussian.

"Gilbert, you don't mean that you and Roderich…?"

"No Francis! It's far more interesting!" Spain giggled. Prussia tried to hush him, but the Spaniard had too much alcohol in his system to quiet down.

Prussia tried to avoid meeting France's gaze, but the Frenchman laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Gilbert, mon cher. You know you can tell me anything. So please?"

Prussia swallowed. "Well… I sort of started dating someone recently… If it’s not too soon to call it that…"

The Frenchman beamed with joy at hearing this. "But Gilbert, that is wonderful news! Why would you ever think you cannot tell me this?" Besides the obvious reason that France was now the only one left behind without a partner.

Spain was almost choking on his own laughter. "Y-you don't know w-who i-it is!" he finally managed to spit out.

France looked back at Prussia. "Dear Gilbert, why all this secrecy? We are a trio! Please do not keep me in the dark. Is it someone I know?"

Red eyes locked with azure ones. "Yeah."

France's eyebrows shot up. "Who? America?"

If Prussia had been drinking at that moment, he would have spat it out in a dramatic way. "America?" he snickered. "No way. He's cool, but I am way too awesome to ever date him."

But France wanted his answer. So he turned to Spain.

"Please Tonio. Tell me."

"Don't you dare, you traitor scumbag!" Prussia warned him.

Spain stopped laughing long enough to say the name "Canada.”

France blinked. "Canada?" he asked.

The albino tsk-ed at him. "Matthew Williams. You know, the guy you call your son."

"Ah, him! …Wait, what? You and Canada are dating? Mathieu? _Mon_ Mathieu?"

Prussia's blush increased. He was serious! France gripped his shoulders and forced the Prussian to look him in the eye. "Are you serious about it?"

Prussia's eyes narrowed. "Serious enough to remember _his name_. Something his own father is unable of doing."

Time seemed to slow down. Spain didn't notice the sudden change in temperature, he was in his own little world now. Prussia and France kept staring at each other. France had dug his nails in Prussia's shoulders, and Prussia was looking at him with red orbs that said “Try me.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, the moment was gone. France retracted his arms and smiled apologetically. "You are right mon ami. I am unworthy of the title of Mathieu’s père. I fully approve of your relationship, and I wish you all the happiness in the world."

The albino grinned widely. "Don't be so hard on yourself Francy-pants! At least I'm there now to remember who he is! I shall help him get noticed through my awesomeness!" He snorted and took another swig of his beer, finding it already empty.

France looked at his wineglass, remembering the initial reason for this little party. Spain had Romano, and now Prussia had found someone as well… He truly was happy for them, but he couldn't help feeling a little self-pity. Then, he became aware of a hand on his cheek. He looked up to see Spain right next to him.

"It is okay amigo. I am sure things will work out for you too," he said, abruptly sounding sober again.

France hugged him lightly. "Merci. I know I can always count on you two."

"That's right, so don't forget it!" Prussia shouted. "And now I have to go take a piss!"

The Prussian stood up and immediately hit his head against the wall, making him lose consciousness for a few moments. Spain and France dragged him towards France's bedroom (after a quick stop at the bathroom of course, as they didn't want any accidents to happen). It was getting late either way. They dropped Prussia in the middle of the bed, France took up the space to the left of him, and Spain squirmed under the covers to his right.

"Buenas noches!" Spain said with a yawn.

"Bonne nuit," France affirmed.

"Gute Nacht!" Prussia yelled, momentarily regaining consciousness before going back to sleep and immediately starting to snore.

"Francis stop groping my vital regions…" Spain muttered before falling asleep as well.

France grinned. He really did have the best friends a nation could ever wish for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One little note about Northern Italy's condoms: nations can get sexually transmitted diseases, but are able to recover from them very quickly. Plus they rarely have sex with humans, making it almost impossible for these STDs to spread.
> 
> Words:  
> Pañuelo: Handkerchief  
> Mon petit: My little  
> Mon cher: My dear  
> Père: Father  
> Buenas noches: Goodnight  
> Bonne nuit: Goodnight  
> Gute Nacht: Goodnight


	20. Dream and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America has a dream, and shit gets real.

England was successfully creeping the shit out of his guest. They had just eaten dinner, and now England was talking to the infamous Flying Mint Bunny. Infamous because besides the Brit, no nation had ever seen the damn thing. Norway and Romania claimed it did indeed exist, but that was still the word of three against… whatever many others.

"Yes, I see! The fairies really know how to spice things up, don't they?" England chuckled. He held his hands in front of him as if wrapping them around something. Only problem was that THERE WAS NOTHING FUCKING THERE.

"Iggy, you sure you're not talking to any ghosts?" America inquired, feeling less than comfortable with the situation. He was here to hide from scary stuff, not to try and have friendly conversations with it.

England scowled at him. "Alfred, do not be rude to my friends! Just be a good lad and wait until we've finished talking. Now Flying Mint Bunny, you were saying?"

America loudly scraped his chair back (earning him another dead-glare) and escaped to the living room. He found the TV even more attractive than usual at the moment. The nation flopped onto the couch, scooped up the remote and pointed it at the screen. Immediately he was met by Keira Knightley in the role of Elizabeth Bennet, as Mr. Darcy was trying and failing to propose to her in the rain.

"Yo Iggy, _Pride and Prejudice_ is on!"

"Be quiet you git!"

America shrugged and decided to make himself at home. After picking up a beer (here it was called a pint for some reason) and a bag of popcorn, he installed himself in front of the television.

Some time later England decided to join him.

"What on earth are you watching?"

"Ssssh! Lizzy's gonna tell what's-his-name he's a bitch for screwing her sister!"

England raised an eyebrow in a sarcastic gesture, but decided not to make any sense of his ex-colony and just join him on the couch.

Some more time passed. Both nations were glued to the screen, the bag of popcorn nearly empty. The Englishman hadn't been so engrossed in a film in years.

"You go girl!" America cheered as he fist-palmed the air. "Tell that woman she has no right talking shit to you!"

England pulled him back onto the couch. "Hush! The ending is coming up!"

America felt his heart swell as he saw Mr. Darcy walking towards Elizabeth. He was such a sucker for romance movies. Most nations wouldn't take him for a romantic soul, but what better happy endings were there than the ones where the hero gets the girl and they get to be all lovey-dovey? None, that's the answer you're looking for!

America sank back in the cushions when a sudden sadness crept over him.

 _'When's it my turn?_ ' he thought. _'Being immortal kicks ass, but it does get kinda lonely without someone to share it with.'_

Sure, the nations had each other, but love was very different from being allies, enemies or even friends. Love was special. And America yearned for it with his entire being. He had been in relationships before, but now he wanted one that would last, one where he could be truly happy.

As the American felt himself slip away from consciousness, one question came to mind.

 _'I wonder what Ivan's doing?_ '

* * *

Russia was walking through the aisles of Kmart, pushing a shopping cart. He was going to cook something special for tonight in case America had returned by then (Russia was almost certain that would be the case).

"I still need carrots, onions and chicken…" he muttered to himself. He was planning to make solyanka, a thick spicy and sour soup. He had learnt the recipe from his sister Ukraine, and he quite liked the taste of it.

A mother left her daughter by the cart while she went to go pick something up. The girl eyed Russia suspiciously as he looked at the carrots, trying to pick the nicest-looking ones. The nation noticed the girl staring and turned to fully face her.

"It is rude to stare at people, da?" he told her, creepy smile present.

"You're weird," the girl told him, before sticking out her tongue.

Russia didn't feel like letting this action go by without any reciprocation. He dropped the bag of carrots in his cart and slowly walked over to the little brat. He began to emit a purple aura, and his smile grew to show his teeth.

As the girl started crying, the mother showed up, screamed, picked up her child and ran out of the store. Russia grinned happily. He treated children as his equals as long as they showed him respect. But when they didn't, his own 'childish' side emerged.

Russia whistled a jolly tune while finishing his shopping.

…

America wasn't there upon his arrival. Oh well, he'd only been gone for about a day or two now. There was still plenty of time for him to return.

Russia put away the bags and then went to the hallway to take off his coat. He was wondering what he would do today. The Russian knew it was weird for him to stay here when the owner wasn't around, but he was reluctant to leave. America had promised him he would show him sunflowers, and the violet-eyed nation wasn't going to leave until he had seen them. America would definitely return today. He had to.

After doing some paperwork he had brought with him, he decided to look at the collection of video games America had stashed away behind the DVDs.

" _Silent Hill, Silent Hill 2, Silent Hill 3, Resident Evil_ …" the Russian quickly grew bored of the amount of horror games. He wondered if Japan had given those to the blond nation, or if he had bought them himself. Russia hoped he bought them. He didn't like the idea of someone giving gifts to his new friend. He didn't pay much attention to that feeling; the tall nation knew he could get quite possessive sometimes.

He finally found a game of Tetris, something he was actually an expert in. He started the game up, but just when he was about to begin the first level, he heard a rhythmic knocking on the door. Russia immediately perked up. Maybe America was back, and had simply forgotten his keys! The ashen blond rushed to the door and swung it open.

The person looking at him definitely wasn't America. But it also wasn't a nation. It was another of the young nation's states, if the built of his face and the colour of his eyes was anything to go by. The young man studied the other from under a hat.

"What are you doing in dad's house?"

Russia did not like the way he spoke to him. But just when he was about to start kol'ing, a flash of recognition shot over the state's face.

"Hey, I know you! You're Russia! Yeah, you have to be!"

The tall nation was taken aback by his sudden cheerfulness. "How did you know?" he asked.

"Because of your scarf and purple eyes! Dad used to tell us all about you. During the Cold War he just couldn't keep his mouth shut about that 'Commie bastard with his devilish goggles'!"

Russia narrowed his eyes. He'd rather not be reminded about the Cold War right now. But maybe the Capitalist Pig would come back if one of his children went missing?

"Anyways, I'm Illinois! But you can call me Lincoln, Link is only for close friends, which I guess you're not, or not yet at least. Anyways, is dad home? I heard he was in my state, and I wanted to talk with him about the industry."

Russia shook his head, finding it hard to deal with the state. He had the urge to break his nose, and found it very difficult to resist.

"He's not home? Too bad I guess. Hey, are you playing Tetris?"

The state squeezed past him and walked over to the television. Russia's eye twitched.

"I haven't played Tetris in forever! Oh the memories… Oh yeah, forgot to ask, why are you actually here?"

"Alfred invited me," Russia hissed, getting angrier by each passing minute. Illinois either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Good, good. I guess he doesn't hate you anymore then?"

That question surprised him. His anger was instantly forgotten and replaced by curiosity.

"What do you mean?"

Illinois picked up an old photograph to look at while he kept talking. "Dad only brings his closest friends to this house. It's one of his favorites, you know. I guess that makes me one of his favorites as well! Hah, screw you Missouri! I'm better than you! But anyways, since he's brought you here, I guess the Cold War is really in the past now."

That made Russia happier than he could've ever imagined. He smiled at Illinois, liking him a lot better now. The state grinned widely, glad to see him in a better mood.

"Why is it that us nations never see you states?" Russia asked.

Illinois shrugged. "We mostly keep to ourselves. Mind our own business and stuff. We never even leave the country. International relations is dad's job, we just have to look after our own states."

"Does it not get lonely, never seeing more of the world?" Russia asked.

The state shook his head. "Nah, we're fine. There's fifty of us, how are we supposed to get lonely? Sure we can fight a lot, but we're family."

Family… How could a word so simple sound so heavenly?

Illinois tipped his hat. "Well, gotta go now. Make sure you don't wreck the house while dad's gone, and please tell him I need him once he's back. Bye Mr. Russia!"

And with that he was gone, leaving Russia feeling a bit overwhelmed. He was trying to imagine meeting all the states at once. Would it be claustrophobic, or were they all able to catch Russia off guard like both Illinois and Alaska had done? Even if their open behaviour was a bit much to deal with, Russia couldn't help but like the states he had met so far. Maybe because he already liked America, and the states were somehow part of him?

Meeting them made Russia long for the presence of his friend even more.

* * *

America didn't come back that day at all. Russia ate his soup in solitude, trying to ignore that gnawing feeling in the back of his head.

America would definitely return. Maybe he was waiting for him to fall asleep, thinking it safer to enter the cave when the bear wasn't awake to chase him out.

Russia put the remainder of the solyanka in the fridge and went to bed early.

If America hadn't returned by tomorrow morning, _then_ he would begin to worry. He refused to do so any time sooner.

* * *

America was standing in front of a door. He knew precisely what he'd find behind it. Yet he was afraid, so very afraid, to open it. Because he wasn't ready to face it yet. Perhaps never would be. It was a secret better to be kept locked away in the deepest part of his soul.

…So why was he reaching out to it? Why did he keep coming back to this door in his dreams, knowing very well that opening it would only lead to trouble, heart pounding in his chest, and still keep reaching out to the doorknob? He could almost touch it now. His fingertips brushed the polished marble. He swallowed and gripped the round object tight in his hand. His mind was screaming no, but his heart was urging him to push on without looking back. Take a leap into the dark. Finally acknowledge it.

 _'Go on_ …'

He swallowed again, and with new determination he turned the knob and burst through the open door.

The room (or not exactly a room, more like a citadel without a roof) was bathing in the orange and pink of a setting sun. Flowers of all kinds reached to the sky, trying to catch those last rays before nightfall. He found himself lying in the grass on a hill, the perfect angle to watch the sunset.

A hand grasped his, intertwining their fingers. The body next to him shifted in an attempt to get closer to him. America closed his eyes and took a tentative breath. The smell of vodka, musky forests and camomile(1) reached his nostrils.

"Amerika…" a voice whispered.

The nation opened his eyes to see violet hovering over his face. They were almost glowing, reflecting the last sunlight. Half-lidded and smouldering.

America did nothing to stop him as he inched closer. When their noses touched, he squeezed the hand still captured in his own and let his eyes slide shut. He could taste the alcohol on the other's breath as his lips parted-

America's eyes shot open and he bolted upright. His chest was rapidly going up and down to support his laboured breathing. He was very much awake now.

He brought a hand to his mouth, fingers barely touching his lips.

 _'What the hell was I dreaming about?_ '

His hand fell back on the couch as if it'd gone limp. He pulled his legs up and hugged them close to his body, face buried against his knees.

He had gotten too comfortable around Russia lately. _Way_ too comfortable.

"Shit."

* * *

In another country, a Russian woke up from a strangely similar dream. However, as he opened his eyes, the memory was already fading away, leaving behind a strange sense of loneliness and desperation. He searched the house again, somehow expecting the American to be there. America had already been gone for more than three days. Russia was really starting to worry.

"Alfred, where are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Camomile is the national flower of Russia.


	21. Accept it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America freaks out, and Russia calls Canada.

America was too quiet to England's tastes. The normally loud and obnoxious nation was now staring out the window, looking very deep in thought.

"A penny for your thoughts."

America jerked his head back, as if only now noticing the other's presence.

"I'm not thinking about anything."

The sunny blond had never been a good liar. His face could be read like an open book, and right now the sentence “I'M WORRYING ABOUT SOMETHING” was written in neon letters all over his skin.

"Alfred. I can tell there is something on your mind. Just spit it out."

America's electric blue orbs wandered back to the window. "…Was just wondering if it would be all right to go back home now."

England cocked an eyebrow. "And why wouldn't it be? It's your house after all. Either Russia has gone home himself, or if he's still cross with you, you just kick him out. Or do you want me to chase him away instead?"

The American snorted and shook his head. "Nah. I guess I'll have to face him myself. It's just that, I don't want him to be angry with me, you know?"

England had to confess he didn't understand that sentiment. Nations were angry with America all the time, and he never seemed to be too upset over it. He and Russia had hated each other for a quite some time the past decade or so, and now he felt bad about the Russian being mad at him?

England studied America's forlorn-looking face. He kept staring at something that just wasn't there. The Brit had a feeling his former colony wasn't being entirely honest with him, that he was hiding a secret. England had been a spy for too long not to pick up on the little symptoms. Like how he bit his nails, the way his eyebrows nervously twitched. The older man noticed the bags under the other's eyes, indicating a very troublesome sleep. There was more going on here. The green-eyed nation was still suspicious of Russia possibly threatening and/or abusing the American, but he wasn't going to bring that up again and risk making America angry. He would have to use different methods.

"So, how long have you two been friends?"

America shrugged absentmindedly. "I guess like a month now."

Only a month, and yet he was this worried? England pushed on.

"Has he been angry with you before?"

"Maybe… But I guess not. You know Russia, he has his little psycho moments. But I haven't seen those a lot actually. This is the maddest I've seen him since 1991(1). Although he was mostly devastated then, not angry…"

 _'Except for when he locked me in my closet…_ ' England thought bitterly, before continuing his inquisition.

"How come you're friends now?" the Brit inquired, taking special interest in that part of the story.

America thought for a moment before speaking up. "Well I guess it started in Berlin. You know, that night we went out drinking? He came up to me and we had a lot of fun." America paused for a moment, realizing how much truth his words held. "After that.. I dunno, a lot of stuff happened."

"But why him?" England nearly growled. He had to know what was on the American's mind. No nation just decided to become friends with Russia. Especially not America, or so England had always thought. True, they hadn’t always been enemies, but the Cold War was a rather recent historical fact that simply couldn’t be overlooked.

Blue eyes glazed over. "He listens to me. Actually listens. You do too," he quickly added when he saw the look on the Englishman's face, "but he never tells me I'm being stupid, or interrupts me, or anything. And I like to listen to him as well. You ever paid attention to his voice? I mean _really_ paid attention? It's warm. And that's ridiculous because Russia's supposed to be all cold and stuff, but he's not actually. I never realized that, but now I do and-"

" _Alfred Foster Jones_!"

The young nation was startled by the graveness of England's voice. He looked up to see green eyes having a furious glint to them, and his eyebrows almost forming a perfect V.

"You _are_ friends with him, correct? Just friends?"

The earth stopped turning. The Brit and the American stared at each other, one dumbfounded and the other pissed. England could almost hear the mechanisms in America's mind creak as he tried to comprehend the question. Once he did, all hell broke loose.

"What are you implying, Iggy?" he laughed hysterically. "'Course we're just friends! Why would we be anything else?!" His eyes shone maniacally. "I'm just worried about him, that's all! You get worried about others too right? And I just hope his fat ass doesn't demolish my house while I'm gone! But he doesn't actually have a fat ass, he's quite muscular- But it's only normal for friends to notice that! I mean, come on!"

America kept rambling on while England slowly got out of his seat and made his way around the table.

"And sure he has nice hair that looks really soft and I kinda wanna touch it, but doesn't everyone? It's his own fault for being so cute! I mean really, it should be illegal! He's way too big to be cute! But I mean big in a height-kinda way, nothing sexual! Why would you even think that?! Come on Iggy, you're just-"

America was cut off as England placed a hand over his mouth. His eyes were narrowed to tiny little slits.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe _you_."

America's eyebrows shot up to show he didn't understand. The Brit's mouth formed a straight, disapproving line.

"Alfred, are you _attracted_ to Russia?"

America's face went so red it could make Spain's tomatoes jealous. He frantically shook his head to try and deny it, but it was already too late. His body had spoken for him.

England was astonished. Never would he have imagined this to happen. And yet here they were.

"Did you two… do anything?"

America almost fainted after hearing that question. The older nation removed his hand to listen to the answer. All that came out was incomprehensible sputtering. America's eyes were twirling around, and England worried he really would pass out.

"Alfred, breathe."

America did as he was told before talking. "D-do anything? Iggy, you're a sick pervert! Of course we didn't do anything, we're friends! Just friends, nothing more!"

England crossed his arms. "And friends talk about each other's 'toned and muscular body', or how they look adorable when they're asleep?"

Shit, had he really said that out loud? America couldn't remember all that had come out of his mouth during his little mental breakdown of a few moments ago.

"Sure they do!" he said defiantly. He wasn't going to admit it. England couldn't force him to admit it. He didn't think Russia was attractive, dammit! Even when the whole world and his own dreams told him otherwise, he wouldn't say it.

The Englishman cupped America's face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

"Alfred. I know you too well. You are nervous, you're blushing, and even though you say you're not attracted to him you can't stop talking about him. Just accept it already."

"But it's not true!" he yelped as panic started to take over. He pushed the Brit off, a little harsher than he should have. England tumbled to the ground. America's eyes went wide when he saw the hurt on his face.

"Iggy I'm sorry, I didn't want to-"

The Brit swatted away the hand that was reached out to him.

"Fine. If you don't want to admit it, have it your way. I won't ask anymore, and I also won't help you if you come crying at my door again because your so-called 'friend' is angry with you. But Alfred-" England looked America dead in the eye as he got up from the floor. "We both know it's the truth. So please act your age and just acknowledge it."

With that he turned around and left the kitchen.

All America could do was hang his head in defeat. Of course he knew England was telling the truth. He fucking got it, all right?! He just didn't want it to be true.

Mostly because Russia wanted to be friends, _only_ friends. So there was absolutely no point in being attracted to him.

* * *

Russia was pacing up and down America's living room. He was trying to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to call someone, and who, and what exactly he was going to tell them. He didn't just want to call anybody and tell them he was afraid something had happened to America. First of all because he still had his pride and the Russian Federation wasn't afraid. Secondly because they would probably laugh at him. Nations were as good as immortal, and America had only been gone for little over five days. Nothing to be too worried about. Besides that, America was more than capable of taking care of himself, so they would just tell him his fear was unfounded.

Still, he needed someone to console him. Someone who wouldn't laugh at him. Someone who could distract him from the pain in his stomach and the disaster scenarios that kept playing through his mind like an endless film.

Belarus was out of the question for obvious reasons. Ukraine would just cry when she heard America had gone 'missing'. He briefly considered Lithuania, but then a better option came to mind. Canada. Being America's brother, surely he had to be worried for the nation sometimes as well?

Russia took out his phone and dialled the Canadian's number.

"This is Canada. If you're looking for America, his number is-"

"Matvey."

Canada went silent. "…Russia, is that you?"

"Da."

"Oh… Okay, hello. How can I help you?" His soft voice sounded a little wary.

Russia hesitated for a moment before deciding he might as well tell the Canadian. If he were to laugh at him he could easily go to his house and have him meet his Magic Metal Pipe of Pain.

"It is about your brother. We had a little… falling out, I think you call it. He left the house five days ago, and he has not returned yet. I am… worried. Da." He held his breath as he waited for Canada's response.

The gentle nation sounded grave with his next words. "Well he didn't come to my house, so it's either not that bad or really, really bad."

Russia did not like those words. Not at all. An unhappy little squeaking sound escaped his mouth before he could swallow it back.

Canada heard it and immediately tried to reassure him. "But it's probably the not-that-bad sort! I know my brother, he likes to overreact. It's probably nothing to worry about. It's only been a couple of days after all. He's been gone from home for much longer periods of time in the past."

The tall nation stayed silent. He felt pathetic for panicking, like a little child. Still, the feeling of unease wouldn't leave him alone.

"Have you tried calling him yet?" the mauve-eyed nation continued.

"Da, but the phone was turned off."

"…Russia? I get that you're worried, but there's nothing we can do about it right now. If he hasn't returned after two more days, then we'll go looking for him. In the meantime, why don't you try thinking about something else?"

Russia grumbled. As if he hadn't tried that already.

"Look, you can call me any time you want if you get anxious. But now you'll just have to wait, eh?"

The Russian frowned. Canada had called him anxious. "I am not _anxious_ Matvey. Simply… worried."

"Of course not," Canada corrected himself. "Just know that… you have someone to talk to."

Russia relaxed a little at those words. Someone to talk to. That was exactly what he'd wanted. For a nation who could go invisible at times, talking to the Canadian had a surprisingly soothing effect.

"I will keep that in mind, Matvey."

"All right… Ivan," Canada cautiously added, wondering if he wasn't going too far.

Russia almost dropped the phone. This was the first time someone other than his sisters or America had called him by his human name. And that was all thanks to his new friend. If it weren't for him, he would never have gone to Italy's party, he wouldn't have seen Alaska again, and he definitely wouldn't have heard Canada call him by his first name.

"D-da… I have to go now. Do svidaniya Matvey."

"Goodbye Ivan."

* * *

Russia spent the rest of the day wandering through the house like a ghost. Talking to Canada hadn't put his mind at ease in the slightest, even though he did enjoy talking to him. He downed a bottle of vodka, the alcohol not relieving his nerves one single bit.

Russia couldn't think about anything but America. He didn't leave the house, afraid of somehow missing his arrival. At one point his heart almost fell out of his chest again, he just barely avoided it from happening. Russia could have never imagined being able to worry about the American so much it gave him a stomach-ache. He longed for that obnoxiously loud laugh, for all of his facial expressions, he wanted to hold him in his arms. Russia was confused. How could he feel this bad after being separated for not even a full week? Were those the side-effects of friendship? The Russian didn't like it at all. He just wanted America to be here again to make the feeling stop. Because try as he might, he wasn't able to put a stop to it on his own.

That night he had a nightmare. This time, America wasn't around to comfort him. So he did the only thing that might work: he crawled into the American's bed. At least there he would feel less alone, being surrounded by his scent and personal belongings.

Russia couldn't fall asleep again after that. He just hugged the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of passing cars and the howling wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) 1991 is the year when the USSR was officially disbanded.
> 
> Words:  
> Do svidaniya: Goodbye


	22. Happy Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America's coming home.

America was lying in his bed, feeling more than a little depressed. He had spent the past few days in solitude, reminiscing on his actions. He had hurt England for telling him the truth. He didn't deserve the title of hero. "Being an asshole" fit his behaviour much better. It wasn't Iggy's fault that he had to be attracted to Russia of all people. Maybe even more than just attracted. But that didn't matter, because Russia had asked him to be his friend, not something more. Since the tall nation was the one in need, his wishes were more important than America's. So he would just have to ignore the butterflies and stay friends. Even if that made him feel real crappy.

"You know, you'll have to go home some time."

America jumped at the sudden noise. He hadn't noticed England leaning against the doorframe. His eyes saddened.

"Yeah, I know."

They stayed quiet for a little while.

"Iggy I'm so sorry for-"

England waved his apologies away. "I know you wouldn't push me down on purpose. But if it makes you feel any better, I forgive you."

A small smile broke out on America's face. England sat down on the edge of his bed.

"I know you don't want me interfering with your personal affairs. I wish I could though."

The younger snorted. England shot him an angry glare before continuing.

"But you can't hide here forever. A real gentleman steps up and faces his problems, however big they are. Now I'm not the first person you should come to for this type of advice, but even though I don't like Russia, and probably never will, I think it's best not to say anything to him about how you're feeling until you've got it all sorted out. It wouldn't do to play with his… _feelings_." The way he said that last word proved he hardly believed the Russian to be capable of feeling anything at all.

America rolled his eyes. "Iggy, I'm not planning on telling him. _Ever_."

England had a sympathetic look in his eyes. "All right Alfred. If you think that's the best thing to do, I won't stop you. As long as you're happy with your decision."

America gave him his hero-smile to prove he wasn't feeling down (which he totally was).

"Oh yeah, since we're talking about him anyway. If Russia doesn't kill me once I get home, I'm sort of planning a surprise party for him in the near future."

England cocked an eyebrow. "A surprise party?"

The sunny blond nodded excitedly. "Yeah, I heard he didn't get one last year. So I thought, why not throw a party now? It'll be double the surprise since it's not his birthday, and everyone deserves a celebration. So you think you could come? I don't know when it's gonna be yet, but I'll need some guests."

"Alfred, I don't know if-"

"Please? If you're not doing it for Ivan, then do it for me."

Ivan. Not Russia, Ivan. America was far deeper in this than he would ever acknowledge.

England sighed. "Fine, I will be there."

"Thanks Iggy!" the blue-eyed nation said. "And also thanks for letting me stay here."

"I take it this means you're leaving again?"

America smirked. "You're guessing right. I'll try to catch the next plane-ride home. If I haven't called you by tomorrow evening, consider me dead meat."

England couldn't laugh with his joke.

* * *

It was around four in the morning when America unlocked the door to his house. He warily glanced around, feeling like Bambi's mom when she entered the meadow. Which was very bad, because things didn't exactly end well for Bambi's mom. He sneaked into the living room. The lights were all out, and the house felt cold and unoccupied. Maybe Russia really had gone home?

"…Ivan?" he carefully called out.

The sound of light and swift footsteps reached his ears. He spun on his heels to see the tall nation coming straight at him. He put up his arms in defence and tightened his muscles, ready to run away if necessary.

But all of his worries proved irrelevant as Russia wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close to his chest. America blinked sheepishly and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart.

"Fedya, I thought you weren't coming back…" His voice sounded strangely thick.

America gently pried himself loose to take a proper look at the Russian. It was dark, but he could still see the messiness of his ashen blond hair, the way his body trembled, and the bags under his beautiful eyes. Eyes that looked both inhumanly sad and extremely relieved. Russia couldn't stop the tears once they started rolling down his cheeks.

This was the first time America had ever seen Russia cry.

The young nation put his arms around the other and revived the embrace. He stroked the older nation's back as he felt him shake and sob into his shoulder. He had dug his fingers in his arms and clung to him like a child that was being reunited with his mother.

"I'm back. I'm back."

He kept repeating those words like a mantra. His heart was shattered into a million pieces from seeing the great Russian Federation in this state. He would've never expected him to react like this. The American wondered what had gotten him this upset. Certainly he couldn't be that worried for him being gone for a mere two weeks, right?

He buried his face in Russia's hair, yearning for the feel of his touch. He was disgusted by his selfishness, but also just really happy to see the nation again and to be able to hold him.

After what felt like hours, Russia finally calmed down again. He didn't want to be left alone after that. So America dragged him up to his room, ignored the untidiness of his sheets, and they both settled down in his bed. Russia immediately curled up next to him and possessively laid his arms back around him. America had never known him to be this clingy. And he had also never thought he would like it this much. If they were going to be just friends, he was going to have a hard time containing himself.

Only when he felt the other fall asleep could America relax. Careful not to wake the Russian, he stroked his hair. It really was as soft as he'd imagined, maybe even softer. He might as well savour this moment, since they probably weren't going to be this close ever again. After all, Russia only saw him as a friend. America had to keep telling himself that to hold back from doing more than stroking his hair. Now that he had finally acknowledged his feelings, they were hard to ignore.

 _'What have I gotten myself into?_ ' he thought, before counting down the seconds until the moment Russia would wake up and break away from their current position.

* * *

At around 12.30, America got hungry. He briefly considered slipping out of the bed to get something to eat, but he didn't want to disturb the other. And more importantly, he didn't want to break the embrace. Luckily for him (or bad luck, depending on the way you look at it), Russia started waking up soon afterwards.

Vivid blue eyes studied the way he leisurely stretched his limbs, how a content smile grew on his face, how his violet spheres slowly opened themselves to instinctively look up at the American.

"Dobroe utro Fedya," the man sighed. How had he missed saying those words, even if it only had been two weeks. Maybe the pain was worse because of the way they'd left each other, and the uncertainty of America even returning. Maybe he'd been afraid their little quarrel meant the end of their friendship. Russia didn't know, but right now he also couldn't care less. The only thing that mattered was that his friend had returned.

Russia wanted to nuzzle his face in America's shirt, but remembered the other's speech about “no touching in inappropriate places.” The tall nation had no idea whether or not the crook of his neck was also considered an inappropriate place, so he decided not to risk it.

The Russian giggled when America's stomach made a loud growling noise.

"Guess I should eat, huh?" America apologized, reluctant to let go of the other.

Russia sighed. "I guess you are correct." With those words he pulled back his arms and pushed himself into a sitting position.

America tried not to sulk as his Russian was taken away from him. "Wanna go to McDonalds?" he asked.

The older nation raised an eyebrow. "If you want to, dorogoy."

America turned to look at him. "What does doro- whatever you just said mean?"

Russia's cheeks were painted a faint pink. The endearment had just slipped out of his mouth, without him really paying attention to it. It felt nice saying it, but he couldn't just tell the American what it meant.

"I-I think it is the same as your expression of someone who is difficult to deal with. Da."

There, he had saved himself brilliantly.

America huffed. "How am I difficult to deal with?"

A sly smile played with Russia's lips. "Because you just run away after making mistakes instead of dealing with the consequences."

The room's temperature dropped to below freezing-point.

America laughed nervously. "Y-yeah… Hey, about that 'thing'… You're not still mad about that, are you?"

Oh, Russia was definitely enjoying this. Sure, he wasn't mad anymore, but that didn't mean America had to know.

"I won't be after you have fulfilled your punishment~"

America's face went white like a ghost's (but don’t tell him that). "P-punishment?"

Russia giggled in delight. "Da! But that can wait until after breakfast. Or maybe lunch is the better term now."

America swallowed audibly. The Russian was about to leave the room when he remembered something.

"Oh and Alfred?"

The American was very afraid of what he was going to say next. "Yeah?" he squeaked.

"You might want to purchase a new laptop."

* * *

"Privet Matvey. I just wanted to tell you that Alfred has returned."

Russia smiled happily while listening to the relieved ramblings of America's brother. Said American was in his room, installing the new laptop he'd bought. He had grumbled something along the lines of "You're lucky I got my important stuff on a usb-stick," but once he saw the murderous look on Russia's face, he had scurried away.

"Da. Spasiba Matvey. Goodbye!" Russia hung up the phone at the exact same moment America entered the room, a sour expression on his face.

"All right big guy. I'm ready for the punishment. Whatever it is, I can take it!" He tried to act brave, but on the inside he was dying a slow and painful death.

The Russian chuckled gleefully. "Oh, but you will enjoy this punishment! However, we will need to go shopping for that."

America cocked an eyebrow but didn't dare ask any questions. So the two of them took a bus to the same mall Russia had visited a couple of days ago.

"Seriously though, where exactly are we going?" America asked.

"You'll see~"

When they reached the store Russia was aiming for, the young nation's jaw dropped.

"No. Fucking. Way."

Russia giggled as he took America by the arm and pulled him into the store. The blue-eyed nation didn't struggle, knowing a worse faith awaited him if he were to do so. The customers and shop attendants looked at them strangely, wondering what two guys were doing in a women's clothing store.

"Come on dude, really?" America asked in a hushed voice, face as red as a boiled lobster. Maybe redder.

Russia nodded. "Da. It is payback, so it should be at least as bad as what you did to me. An eye for an eye, I believe that is what your people say."

An enthusiastic girl still in her late-teens approached them. "Good afternoon, welcome at _Bailey's_! Do you need any help sirs?"

Russia smiled one of his less creepy smiles. "Da, you can help us! I need a dress for my friend here."

America's face went an even darker shade of red (if that was still possible), and he shot an angry glare at the Russian, who completely ignored it.

Luckily, the girl seemed to have experience with cross-dressers. "Sure thing! Now, what size does your friend have?"

The two of them were talking about him as if he wasn't even there!

Russia hummed thoughtfully. "I am not certain… Alfred, what size do you have?"

America stubbornly pursed his lips. Then he yelped in pain as he felt the Russian increasing the pressure on his wrist.

The girl looked a bit startled, but quickly recovered. "No problem! I'll just go grab some measurement equipment. If you'd like to you can wait over there at the fitting rooms."

Russia guided the American to the rooms and pushed him down in a chair.

"Can't you be a little less rough?" America growled, rubbing his sore wrist.

"Nope~ After all this is punishment. We want you to remember this for a long time, da?"

Before America could retaliate the girl had returned.

"Can you stand?"

After another look at Russia's face, America decided to just get this over and done with. He stood there with his arms raised, embarrassed at all the women giggling and (not so secretly) pointing at him. What he wouldn't give to be able to time travel. Then he could go back to a couple of days ago and tell himself to not make Russia wear a dress if he wanted to live.

 _'I guess it still could've been worse…'_ he thought, trying to ignore the lint that was wrapped around his waist.

"Done!" the girl chirruped. "I'll go get some dresses that might fit you!" And with that she skidded off. Almost immediately she came back with her arms full.

"You simply must try this one first, I think it'll look stunning on you and it fits your eyes!" She handed America the dress and pushed him into the nearest stall without further ado. Russia smiled. He quite liked her attitude.

After five minutes they could hear curses coming from inside the stall. "Dammit, I can't get it on properly!"

"Oh, I'll help!" The teen ignored his stuttering protests and slipped into the stall. Russia's muscles tightened. He did not like the idea of the American and the girl being alone in the same stall. He got up and swung the door open to reveal a struggling and very flustered nation in a navy blue dress.

"There, all done!" the girl tittered with sparkling eyes.

Russia paused to look at him. With the way he awkwardly held his hands by his sides and the bright scarlet on his face, America looked simply adorable. The girl was examining him like a professional.

"Could you spin around for me? I want to see how the dress falls over your hips."

America grit his teeth as he rapidly twirled around. Russia could barely stop a squeak from leaving his throat. This was by far the cutest thing he had ever witnessed, and it made his heart dance at a funny rhythm.

"Hmm… Although I like the colour, I think those sleeves are just not your style," the girl mentioned.

Russia grinned. "Da, I agree. Alfred, you must try those other pieces as well."

America shot him a death glare, unable to speak his mind. He was about to close the door to the stall again when Russia stopped him.

"The door stays open." That way he could keep his eyes on the both of them.

America spat out some incomprehensible sounds while the girl slapped a hand against her forehead. "Of course! I'm terribly sorry sir, didn't want to impose on your boyfriend."

Russia curiously tilted his head, not comprehending the statement.

America went both the palest of pales and a dark red. "B-boyfriend?" he peeped. "He's not my boyfriend!"

The girl smirked and gave him a sarcastic roll of the eye before winking. "Sure he's not." After that she helped the American undress in order for him to try on a new dress.

Russia was still wondering what the teen had meant with America being his 'boyfriend', but his thought process was interrupted when he saw the American in his underwear. He had boxers with little hamburgers on them. Russia giggled when he saw the look of pure horror on America's face because of the stares the other customers were giving him.

"I must say you have a nice body… Oh sorry, that was rude of me, I'm not hitting on him or anything!"

Russia had to agree with her. The blond _did_ have a nice body. His skin had a lovely tan, he was muscular but not too muscular, and he had a cute little tummy which he was trying to hide from curious onlookers. America had probably mistaken the curves around his belly for fat, but it only helped in making his body look more smooth and natural. Not like those photo shopped models you often see on television and in magazines.

His heart sped up considerably while looking at the American's body. For a moment he thought America looked rather sexy.

 _'Friendship sure is a strange thing,_ ' the Slavic nation pondered. Before deciding to become friends, he had never considered the other to be sexy. Cute, yes. But not sexy.

America tried on several dresses with the help of the happy teenager before Russia was satisfied. Pieces of all colours passed the revue. Aquamarine, emerald green, mauve, burgundy, cardinal, salmon, fuchsia (that particular dress hurt the eyes), cerulean, indigo and sapphire. But the one that everybody (except the American himself) loved was a dress inspired by sunflowers. It was a bright and warm yellow with little flower patterns to replace the sleeves, it fell nicely around his waist and was short enough to show off his slender knees.

"We'll take it!" Russia chirruped as he clapped his hands approvingly.

America's mouth formed a straight line and you could see the indications of where his nails had buried themselves into his palms. His face was stained a permanent crimson and his eyes were flashing dangerously with built-up anger and shame. Russia found it very endearing to look at.

"Perfect choice sir! He looks absolutely fabulous in that dress! I'll go put these away."

America stomped back into the stall to remove the dress, but a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"What?" he hissed.

"You are not taking the dress off yet."

America blinked. "What?" he repeated, now a little taken-aback.

"We are going to show your new outfit to your citizens, da?"

Russia simply adored the sight of his angry little sunflower.

"No. Way. In. Hell. I already have this thing, that should be enough punishment."

Russia's smile widened just a tad. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, and the amethyst was burning. If looks could kill, Russia would definitely be a mass-murderer.

"Remember why we are doing this Alfred. You _do_ want us to be even." The tone of his voice reminded of a predator ready to jump its prey.

All the American could do was bow his head and ball his fists. Russia was right, he had brought this upon himself. The video of the tall nation in a dress had been on display for everyone to see, so it was only fair that America would waltz around in this outfit at least in front of the citizens of Chicago. And again, the punishment could've been a lot worse.

They paid for the dress and exited the store after a final goodbye wave directed at the nice employee.

"Where to big guy?" America sighed, ignoring (or at least trying to ignore) the people around him.

Russia smiled down at him.

"Outside!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Dorogoy: Dear/Darling


	23. What is all this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America shows his guest the contents behind the secret door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: the reason America calls England Iggy is because one, his middle name is Ignatius in my stories, and two, he heard Japan call him Igirisu and thought it was hilarious.

This had officially been the most embarrassing afternoon America had ever had to live through.

After coming out of the mall, Russia had dragged him through the busiest streets, through parks and alleyways, and across squares. They had visited a shaggy looking bar where the men threw some very disturbed glares at the American, and Russia had insisted on taking one of the tour busses around town.

Luckily, the Russian had decided he needed a treat after all that torture. So right now, they were sitting at the base of a fountain, each with a cone of ice cream in hand.

"There are a lot of places I would like to visit the following days. Do not worry, you will not have to wear the dress anymore."

America cocked his head to the side, looking over the rim of his glasses. "Damn right I'm not wearing it anymore. Today should be enough. Although I must confess I do like feeling the wind in between my legs."

Russia giggled. "You see? My punishment was not that bad."

America rolled his eyes and showed his middle finger to a group of teenagers who were whistling admirably at his legs.

Russia noticed he suddenly wanted to murder those kids in the most painful way possible. He quickly took a lick of his ice cream to suppress the impulse. He had chosen a simple vanilla flavour, while America's cone was stashed with strawberry, chocolate, mint and pistachio, topped with sprinkles and chocolate chips.

The tall nation wanted to say something, but no words left his mouth and his mind went blank at the sight he was next provided with.

America almost seemed to radiate and sparkle, as if a heavenly light was shining down upon him, bathing in the late afternoon sun. His legs were crossed in a casual way and his half-lidded eyes were focussed on the ice cream in front of him. He was slowly licking away at the frozen treat, every now and then moving his hand up to catch some escaping drops and then putting the finger in his mouth.

Russia found himself unable to look away. The sight was fascinating, and sent an unfamiliar heat through his body. If he were a cat he would be purring like a large engine right now. The nation didn't notice his own ice cream melting in his hand.

"Dude, don't let it go to waste!" America suddenly yelled, pulling Russia from his dazed state. He shot out an arm and grabbed the cone from Russia's hand.

"Here, you wash your hand in the fountain, I'll take care of this!"

Happy like a child on Christmas day, he licked up the trails of icy deliciousness that had threatened to drop onto his fingers.

Russia blinked sheepishly, making no move to do something about his sticky hand. His eyes were fixated on the other's tongue now licking _his_ ice cream. Hadn't Japan called that an indirect kiss once? And why was he even thinking about this, and did his heart skip a beat (luckily not literally this time)?

America grew uncomfortable under the incessant staring. "Hello? Anybody home? I don't have something on my face, do I?"

The way Russia's eyes were glazed over sent a shiver down his spine.

 _'God, how I wanna kiss him right now_ …'

But he never got to put those thoughts into action, because a familiar voice called out to them.

"DAD?!"

* * *

America flopped down onto his bed, both physically and mentally exhausted. Running into Illinois had not exactly been a fantastic way to end this day. The boy nearly choked in his own laughter, and America wasn't fast enough to keep him from taking a picture with his phone, which would definitely be sent to all the states. After that he had managed to make his escape, and once home he'd almost torn the dress in his haste to take it off. Now, all he wanted was some peace and quiet. And some time away from the Russian who was too good-looking for his own good.

Apparently the world didn't want to grant him his wish, because his phone started ringing soon after he thought this.

"U S of the A speaking, whossit?" he groaned, not even trying to sound polite.

"I only wanted to check on you. See if you're not 'dead meat'."

America stifled a yawn. "No Iggy, I'm not dead. Just really tired."

"So I take it he wasn't violent upon your arrival?" England was really bad at hiding how little he trusted the Russian.

"Nope~" America said in a sing-song voice.

"…Very well then. That's all I wanted to know."

America frowned. The Brit sounded strangely out of it. "Iggy, everything all right over at your place?"

He could clearly imagine the sarcastic smile being sent his way.

"It's nothing, Alfred."

America wanted to push on, but was cut off as the green-eyed nation spoke again.

"And how are you dealing with… You know, being near him?"

America rolled onto his stomach. He almost felt like a teenage girl gossiping with one of her friends.

"Nothing I can't deal with!" he bragged. Which of course wasn't true, but he didn't want England to worry. Now that he'd finally admitted his feelings, Russia seemed even more alluring to him than before. He wanted to kiss the guy so badly it hurt. But he would just have to ignore the feeling.

"If you say so Alfred. I must go now, stay healthy."

"You too Iggy."

America hung up and hid his head in the sheets. He groaned and clutched the covers in his hands.

"Being in love sucks," he murmured.

Then he froze.

This was the first time he had said out loud that he was in love with Russia.

Not attracted, but in love.

 _'I'm hopeless,_ ' he thought, rolling around on the bed in an attempt to erase the imprint of words from his ears.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Alfred, can I come in?"

"Hang on a sec!" America called out. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans before going to open the door.

Russia took a moment to stare at his naked torso before shaking his head and speaking up. "I am going to make dinner now, da?"

America nodded and folded his arms across his chest. They both stood there for a few minutes, neither of them making a move.

"Anything else?" he asked. It came out harsher than he'd meant due to his tiredness and the events of that afternoon still fresh in his memory.

Russia smiled his creepy little smile. "I only wanted to tell you that your debt has been fully repaid. And that you indeed look 'fabulous' in that dress."

Russia left for the kitchen, leaving behind a blushing American. The tall nation had noticed the strange sensations he often got when around the other had increased lately, as well as the odd behaviour of his heart. It wasn't really a bad feeling, but he'd never felt this way before. If it hadn't stopped by the end of this week, he was going to do some serious research on that.

* * *

"Where exactly did you get that pink dress from?" the Russian inquired over breakfast.

"Huh?" America replied, spoon with cereal floating mid-air.

"That dress," Russia impatiently repeated himself. "Where did it come from? As far as I know, men do not usually have dresses in their wardrobe."

America opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if contemplating something.

"Well, if you really wanna know I guess I _could_ show you…" He twisted uncomfortably in his chair. "It's just that I've never shown anyone really."

Russia's curiosity was spiked. "I promise I will not laugh."

The American shook his head. "It's nothing funny, really. It's just kinda… personal, you know?"

Russia's eyes saddened. "Alfred, if you do not wish to show me, then I will not force you."

The younger nation studied his face. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it in those gentle features. "…No. I think I'll take you there. Just… know that it's very special for me, 'kay?"

The Russian placed a hand over his heart. "I solemnly swear I will show respect to whatever you want to present to me."

America smirked. "Pinkie swear?"

Russia giggled as he grasped the other's pinkie in his own and shook it. The younger nation got up and took the other by his arm. He guided him up the stairs and towards the mysterious door he had told Russia to stay away from. He halted in front of it.

"I've never shown this room to anyone."

"I feel honoured," the violet-eyed nation promised him, a reassuring smile gracing his features.

The sunny blond had an unreadable expression on his face as he bent over and unlocked the door. They stepped in simultaneously, and America turned on the lights. Russia slowly turned his head to take in his new surroundings.

The room was huge, larger than any other in the entire building. Light was blocked by curtains that hung in front of a single large window, and particles of dust danced in the air. The room was filled to the brink with objects of all kinds, sizes, materials and colours. Russia was bombarded by the sight of clothes, weapons, toys, things that looked like little science projects, ribbons, trophies, children's drawings, unidentifiable objects and so on.

"What is all this?" the Russian asked, voice filled with wonder.

The American walked over to the middle of the room and sat down on a rug which had little piglets sown into it.

"These-" He gestured wildly at everything surrounding him. "-are memories from my states."

The older nation slowly walked over to him and sat down on the rug as well while the other kept talking.

"Things they made. Things they gave me. And just mementos from when they were younger. This one for example-" He pulled up a box with tiny handmade wooden horses. "-is from Colorado. He made it himself when he was just this big." He held his hand about 4 feet 5 (1) above the ground.

He carefully handed the box to the tall nation for him to look at. His eyes were beaming with pride.

Russia delicately took out one of the horses. It looked so small in the palm of his hand, yet so very detailed. He smiled at the American before putting it back and gingerly placing the box on the ground.

"This one I got from Maine," he said, his nose wrinkling gleefully at the memory.

It was a novel by Stephen King. On the first page there was an autograph from the author himself, along with a small text that read _To good ol' pops, for his birthday._

"These drawings are from New York. Kid's a real artist, don't ya think?"

Russia could only agree. Even if it weren't true he would never bash on America's 'children', but the drawings were in fact really good.

"Drew them when he couldn't even pick me up yet." He grinned widely, eyes almost overflowing with powerful emotions.

Russia carefully laid the drawings down before the next object was put in his hands.

"A gun from Texas. From the first time he ever beat me in a shooting game."

The mementos kept coming. A saxophone from Louisiana's first concert. A hockey stick from Minnesota. A yellow raincoat with holes in it from Michigan. An origami cactus from Arizona. A set of poker from Nevada. A little hula lamp from Hawaii. A snow globe from Alaska. An old doll from Virginia named Ginny Jr. A prize for 'best poem about nature' from Pennsylvania. The list was endless.

When it was almost lunch time, Russia finally asked the question he'd been wanting to ask.

"That dress… You also got it from one of your states?"

America nodded. "Yeah, that one was Montana's. She loves to design clothes, and that was one of her first projects."

Russia shamefully hid his face in his scarf, ears turning pink.

"Prosti Alfred. I-I… have destroyed the dress. I am truly sorry."

He was relieved to see the American unfazed by the news.

"That's okay big guy. It was my own damn fault for making you wear it. Besides, I still have other clothes from her hanging in this room. That wasn't even one of her finest pieces."

Russia still apologized, but the American was in too much of a melancholic mood to be mad at him.

They sat there for a while, neither of them wanting to disturb the peaceful silence. Russia was amazed at how the often childish nation could become this serious in the blink of an eye. Maybe it was just parental instinct? Russia wouldn't know, he had never been a father. Sure, he'd had colonies, but that simply wasn't the same. The states could be considered part of America, his own flesh and blood so to speak. Without them, he wouldn't be the USA after all. Who knows what he would be then? Russia didn't want to try and imagine it. He liked America the way he was now.

The peace was once again put to a stop by America's stomach.

"Guess it's lunch time already," he sighed.

The nation let himself be pulled up by his guest.

"Do we have to clean up?" the Russian wanted to know, pointing at the stray objects scattered across the floor.

"I'll do that later. Don't worry 'bout it," America reassured him.

He softly pushed his guest towards the door, indicating that it was time to leave his little sanctuary. Before the American stepped out of the room, he turned around and let his eyes trail over the mementos one final time.

"Till next time everyone. Sweet dreams."

He turned off the lights and closed the door behind him, locking it with an audible click.

"Spasiba, little one. I am grateful you wanted to show me this."

The younger nation sent him a crooked smile. "It's nothing, Vanya. Thank _you_ for showing my kids such respect."

They made their way back down the stairs. There was one last question the Russian still wanted to ask.

"Why do you not visit them more often?"

The younger nation glanced over his shoulder, look in his eyes as old as he actually was for once.

"I just don't want to be too controlling over their lives. You know the thing with me and my freedom. I had to fight for my independence, and I don't want to push my states into doing the same thing. They already have enough worries of their own, with politics and the economy and all that jazz."

"But do you not miss them? Does it not get lonely without them?" the Russian pushed on. If there was one emotion he fully understood, it had to be loneliness.

The blond grinned, but it looked fake and forced.

"That's fine dude. I've got Mattie and Iggy, and Kiku and Toris… and you're there now too! And it's not like I never get to hang out with them. Plus we get together for Thanksgiving every year!"

America had such a big family, and yet he barely got to spend time with them.

How… heartbreaking.

With one big step the Russian was behind the other. He placed his left hand on the side of America's head and used the right to stop him in his tracks.

"Wha-" America trailed off as the Russian placed a small, almost loving kiss on his right cheek, just beneath the cheekbone. It was a tiny little thing, too small even to be called a peck. Yet it made America's blood boil and his heart speed up considerably.

"Thank you, Alfred. For everything. For becoming my friend, and for letting me stay in your house. You truly are amazing, and I know your states are proud to call you their father."

He let go of the smaller nation and walked over to the kitchen to go get lunch. Some very conflicting emotions were trying to take over him, not all pleasant and most of them didn't even have a name.

 _'By the end of the week,_ ' he repeated, remembering the promise he had made to himself.

America was trying to calm down before joining his guest. His fingers ached to touch, but he was able to push back those impulses with the greatest of efforts.

 _'Ivan you son of a bitch, you're killing me here!_ ' he thought, gripping his shirt and listening to his racing heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I hope I did the foot thing right, we use meters. It's supposed to be around 1 meter 35 for those who use meters as well.


	24. Anger management

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two go sight-seeing, until something goes terribly wrong.

"Whoa, look at that shark Vanya! It's huge!" America exclaimed, pushing his face against the glass like a little child.

Russia and America were currently visiting the aquarium the Russian had seen on his earlier trip. The younger nation was truly enjoying himself, and his enthusiasm was contagious, for Russia found himself having fun as well.

"Come on, I wanna see the belugas next!" the smaller nation shouted, pulling his companion along.

"Slow down Alfred. We still have time," the Russian giggled cheerfully.

"But you're allowed to touch them and have a picture taken with one of them! We definitely can't miss that!"

Russia didn't really care about touching a beluga, but as long as his friend was happy, he was too.

The American was jumping up and down impatiently as they waited for a family with two children to finish up their photo. Russia had to lay a hand on his shoulder and pin him to the ground to keep him from taking off and bursting through the roof like a rocket.

"Who's next?" the trainer asked with a smile on her face.

"Mememememememe!" the sunny blond yelled, waving his arms around as if frightened they wouldn't see him.

The trainer chuckled and guided him to the animal. Russia kept his distance, deciding he just wanted to watch.

"Hey there bud! Wow, this is awesome! Reminds me of my whale…"

"You have a whale?" the woman asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"He's not really mine, I'm like his foster parent or something," America quickly lied. It wasn't exactly normal for humans to have whales, he now recalled.

"Sea creatures are amazing, don't you think?" the trainer asked, giving the beluga a herring as a reward for his good behaviour.

"Yeah, definitely! Hey Ivan, don't you wanna touch the beluga too?"

The Russian smiled and shook his head. "No, I am quite all right."

"Come on dude, you gotta try it!"

America ignored his protests and pulled him over to the animal. Russia rolled his eyes and decided to just comply to his friend's wishes. He pulled off a leather glove and carefully placed his hand on top of the creature's head.

"It is surprisingly… soft," he said, not really knowing how to describe the texture of its skin. The animal made an approving noise and leant into Russia's touch. He laughed and cooed at the gentle creature.

America was observing him with glittering eyes and a big goofy grin on his face.

"You see? It's pretty neat, huh?"

Russia chuckled. "I must confess it is indeed 'pretty neat'."

The blue-eyed nation got to do a couple of tricks with the animal before their time ran out.

"Now do you both want to take a photo?" the trainer asked them.

Russia was about to reject the offer, but America pulled him up close. "Yep! Together if that's possible!" He was not going to drop the chance to get a picture taken with the larger nation.

They had to sit down because otherwise they wouldn't fit in the frame. Russia had a sour look on his face, but America bumped his elbow against him and whispered "Think about something that makes you happy!" The Russian thought about how lucky he was to spend this much time together with his friend, and a content smile immediately broke out on his face.

"There you go big guy!" the American whispered, giving him a thumbs-up.

"Say cheese!" the photographer said.

The picture turned out to be very nice, both nations looking like they were having the time of their lives.

"Good job with the smiling there Vanya! You look real charming on this!" the American said, nodding approvingly. He already knew a good place to put the frame.

The older nation blushed at his kind words. "Let us eat lunch now, da?" he proposed to hide his shy delight.

"Okay. I'm buying this time."

* * *

They came home late that evening, both exhausted enough to just wander immediately into their separate bedrooms and go right to sleep. America had planned it this way. If they were busy doing stuff all day long, he would have less time to think about his feelings.

The next day America got a call from Obama. Apparently Russia had told Putin that he was going to spend a little vacation in the US, and the Russian's boss had called his boss to congratulate them on their improving relationships.

"I am proud of you Alfred, making friends with Russia!" Obama congratulated him. If only he knew how the American really felt about his new 'friend'.

After the call they went to the planetarium. Both nations loved space, so the trip proved to be a day well-spent. They watched a show about the solar system, visited exhibitions about cyberspace, sundials and astronomy, ate a sandwich at the café and stayed till nightfall so they could do a bit of stargazing themselves.

"Look big guy, it's Canis Major!" America said in a hushed voice, trying not to disturb the other spectators.

Russia bent over to look through the telescope.

"Nyet. That is Canis Minor."

"Really?" the American asked.

He tried to return to the telescope, and for the briefest of moments their fingers brushed. He instinctively pulled back his hand, as if electricity had gone through it. Luckily, Russia didn't seem to notice. He sheepishly put his eye back at the glass and peered at the constellation.

"Huh… I guess it is Canis Minor. My mistake."

Again, they were too tired to do anything else that evening.

It was on the third day that things went wrong.

The nations were on their way back from the Museum of Contemporary Art, Russia listening while America was chatting on about idle things.

"Oh yeah, I have to go to the bank real quick. It's just across the street, so can you wait here?"

Russia nodded and settled down on a bench. His companion crossed the busy street and disappeared into the building. The ashen blond leant back against the back of the bench, happy with a moment's rest. The strange feelings hadn't left him yet, and sometimes he found himself wanting to touch the younger nation or thinking about him without even realizing. He would give himself two more days to try and figure it out on his own, before he would call in the help of the Internet. He was too proud to just ask the other if maybe he had any idea what it could mean.

Russia looked up when he saw the other exit the building again. His friend waited for the light to turn green, and then started crossing the street.

Only, he never got to the other side.

Russia never found out if the man was crazy, drunk, or just incredibly impatient (and stupid). But all of a sudden, a car came racing around the corner, and it was now heading straight towards the American.

Time seemed to slow down and the sound was muted as a lot of things happened at once.

Russia had begun to rise from his seat, a stunned expression on his face and waving and shouting frantically at his oblivious friend. America narrowed his eyes in confusion, and turned his head to see the approaching danger only a few feet away. He instinctively held out his hands to protect himself.

The other drivers were astonished. A mother with child quickly held the infant close to her chest and covered his eyes. Even the pigeons seemed to be paying attention to the situation. Never before had any of them seen this happen.

America had stopped the car with his bare hands.

The bumper now had two big dents in it, indicating the place where the vehicle had come into contact with America's inhuman strength. Said American was looking completely baffled, not comprehending yet what had just happened. The driver had the same look of disbelief and pure horror on his face as most of the bystanders, too stunned to be happy he was still alive as well. A single question ran through their collective minds.

 _'What the hell just happened and how is this even possible?_ '

As soon as Russia had recovered from his initial shock, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

America wasn't hurt. He would be all right.

As soon as his mind had established this fact, a new and much more powerful emotion took over. One of the highest level of anger.

That irresponsible lunatic was going to die.

Russia's face morphed into a devilish grin as he took out his faucet and took large strides to get to the driver.

**KOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOL**

His menacing aura was even more disturbing than normal. It was so strong that the driver knew he was approaching before he had turned his head to look at him. Luckily for him, America noticed too. And finally snapping out of his dazed state of mind, he quickly took action to stop a murder from happening.

The American jumped in front of the icy demon and raised his hands in a defensive movement.

"Ivan, calm down. There's more important stuff to worry about now."

Russia sent him a look so cold it almost froze his bones.

"Nyet. That khuyesos' has to pay."

The Russian pushed America out of the way and continued his journey. The smaller nation wrapped his arms around his waist, desperately trying to get his attention.

"Ivan!" he yelled. "We have to get out of here!"

"Not before his head has met my Magic Metal Pipe of Pain."

" _Russia_!" he hissed, voice low enough for only the other to hear. This seemed to get the nation's attention. His eyes were still set on Kill, but he now looked back at the American.

"We seriously have to leave! What if they call the media or the cops?! They can't know we exist!"

The gravity of the situation settled in. He gave the driver another death glare (which made the guy actually faint on the spot), before letting himself be dragged away by his companion. They ran through the streets, trying to get away from the crime scene as fast as possible. They finally slipped into a dark alleyway, giving themselves some time to catch their breath. Or at least America; Russia looked as if he may as well have casually sauntered over to the place. His hands were still gripping the pipe tight, and a murderous glint was flickering in his eyes.

"You all right there bud?" America asked after regaining his breath, only now noticing the other was still 'a little dismayed'.

"Nyet," the taller nation spat. "I want to go back there and pound his face into dust. Then I want to go to his family and make them eat his entrails. I want them to _suffer_."

"All right, now you're really creeping me out. No one's eating entrails tonight, 'kay?"

The Russian's face told him he would love to prove him otherwise. America had to think fast. Russia really needed to get rid of that built-up anger, without hurting any of his citizens.

"How 'bout you hit me?" he bravely suggested.

This statement seemed to catch the older nation off guard.

"Hit you?" he asked in confusion. "Why would I hit you?"

America stood before him, arms spread as a sign of surrender.

"Better me than him. At least I'll heal a lot faster. Come on big guy, hit me with your best shot!"

The Russian slowly shook his head. "What is the point of hitting you? You have done nothing wrong."

"I told you, better me than him! Now hit me."

"Nyet."

"Come on Ivan, do it!"

"Nyet. I will not."

"Just hit me already!"

"I refuse."

"I am waiting~"

" _Alfred_ ," Russia growled. His whole body was trembling with frustration. "I am _not_ hitting you. So stop _provoking_ me."

America let his arms dangle uselessly by his sides. His idea only seemed to further infuriate the nation. He would have to think of something else.

"…Okay, I know a place where you can vent your anger. Come with me."

He grabbed the Russian by his arm and began pulling him along again, ignoring the violent twitching of the other's hand. They ran towards the bus station and jumped on the first vehicle that pulled over. Russia was still emitting dark waves of fury, and the other passenger stayed as far away as possible. America could only just prevent the driver from calling the police, telling him the Russian was simply “having a bad day.”

The bus brought them to the outskirts of the city, away from any curious onlookers. America took Russia by the arm once more and dragged him to an unoccupied house, partially hidden by a couple of tall trees. America kicked open the door and placed the taller nation in the centre of the building.

"This house was supposed to be demolished next week. I don't think they'd mind if you get a head's start. Come on big guy, help yourself!"

Russia needn't be told twice.

He pulled out his faucet again and started hitting everything that came within reach. Without any effort he tore down brick walls, made firewood of the stairs, completely annihilated the remaining pieces of furniture. America sat back and watched him carefully, meanwhile keeping an eye on the streets in case anyone was attracted to the sounds of complete and utter destruction.

Halfway through the building, the nation started singing a creepy Russian song whilst giggling uncontrollably. It was at times like these that America understood why the nations were scared shitless of the guy. He couldn't find it in him to share that sentiment. After all, Russia had only gotten into this state of insanity because of his own recklessness. If he had paid better attention, none of this would have happened. He had never been in any real danger of course, being immortal and all, but he _had_ almost spilled their secret. He would have to keep low the next few days, and pray that his citizens would either not be believed by others, or would just forget about the whole incident. Other than nations, the memory and attention span of humans was a lot shorter.

Faster than any machine would have been able to, Russia completely wrecked the house. All that was left by the time he was done, were piles of dust and little chunks of stone and wood. The Russian finally seemed to have calmed down a bit, panting heavily and his eyes no longer glowing with madness. He walked over to the American and slumped down on the ground besides him.

"Feel any better now?" America asked carefully.

Russia nodded. "Da. Much better."

America waited for him to fully calm down, watching as the last wall still standing came tumbling to the ground. The workers would only have to clean up when they were coming next week.

Suddenly he felt fingers being intertwined with his own. He jerked his hand back, and stared at the Russian with a startled look on his face. Russia simply stared back.

"I am so happy that you are not hurt."

America swallowed heavily. "Y-yeah… I'm fit as a fiddle! No need to worry big guy."

They stayed silent for a few minutes. America couldn't stop himself when his hand crept down on its own accord, and discreetly touched the Russian's hand. Russia got the hint and weaved their fingers together for the second time.

They never said a word about it. Both nations felt their heart racing in their chests at the speed of light. America knew what it meant, but deliberately ignored the feeling. Russia was left in the dark, trying and failing to figure it out. But he was just so relieved, and he _had_ to touch the other.

They sat there until the sun went to sleep, and after that they kept sitting there, not saying a single word. It wasn't until past midnight that they finally got up and commenced the long walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the "they can't know we exist" part. In this story, the nations go by their human names whenever they're not amongst each other. Only their bosses and a select few (mostly politicians and high ranked military peeps and stuff) know they are actually personifications.
> 
> Words:  
> Khuyesos': Cocksucker


	25. Learn or die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America goes for a swim, and Russia is unaware of the mixed signals he's giving.

America woke up to the sound of tweeting birds. He wanted to throw a pillow at the damn things for disturbing his slumber.

A swift glance at the alarm clock told him it was already past eleven. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach. The American didn't want to get up today. It would just be another day of suppressing his feelings, and of Russia being too damn cute for his own good. America was starting to think it would be better to just go watch the damn sunflowers and send him home already. Having him here was heaven, but not being able to _do_ anything was the worst kind of torture. He felt like Tantalus (Greece had once told Japan the myth, and then Japan had told America); unable to reach that which he so desperately desired as it was practically shoved into his face the entire time. It occurred to him that Russia hadn't mentioned the sunflowers yet, but maybe he was just waiting for the American to bring it up himself.

The blond had never been a patient man. But now he had no other choice than to restrain himself.

The nation whined as he dragged himself out of the bed and headed towards the bathroom. He took a long and steaming hot shower, preparing himself for a new day. Throwing on a blue hoody and some worn-out jeans, he made his way downstairs. Today the nation just wanted to be lazy and hang around.

Russia was already up. He was seated at the table, doing some paperwork while drinking coffee.

He smiled once he saw his host entering the room.

"Dobroe utro Alfred."

"Mornin' Ivan," America replied grumpily. "Any coffee left?"

Russia nodded and gestured to the coffee machine. America thankfully filled a mug and lifted himself onto the counter. He studied the other while he worked. Today the violet-eyed nation was wearing a grey turtleneck that did a beautiful job at accenting his biceps, and a black jacket. America decided on the spot that Russia looked very good in black. Alluring even.

"So where do you wanna go today?" the American asked, before taking another sip of his coffee. Black of course. He always drank his coffee like that.

The Russian briefly looked up before returning his attention to the papers in front of him.

"I do not know Fedya. Why don't you do the choosing today?"

America jumped off the counter and lazily strolled over to his (new) laptop. Of course he was already familiar with Chicago, but he wasn't in the mood to think a lot today. The young nation checked his mail while he was at it, and then went to the page of his most-used search engine.

"Top ten things to do in Chicago," he read out loud.

His eyes fell upon the first thing on the list.

"Hey Vanya," he called out.

"Hmm?" Russia answered, eyes never leaving the papers.

"How about we go to Navy Pier today?"

"Whatever you like Alfred."

The other's indifference was starting to get on his nerves. America pouted. He hated being ignored like this. He logged off his laptop and walked back over to the Russian. He tried to read over the tall nation's shoulder, but his view was blocked.

"I am working little one." Russia wasn't intent on letting their private lives blend in with politics.

America huffed and backed away. He stubbornly ate a cookie whilst making the most noise possible. The sunny blond occasionally glanced back at the other, but Russia didn't seem that fazed at all by the sounds.

America tried a different approach to get his attention. He let himself fall on the ground with a loud thud, and started stalking over to the table like a cat eyeing a possible prey. Russia still wasn't looking. So he decided to get bold, and crept under the table. He curled himself up at the Russian's feet, waited a few seconds, and then rubbed his body against Russia's legs, exactly like a feline would do.

"What are you doing?" the older nation sighed.

"I'm studying the ways of the cat~" America purred.

Russia narrowed his eyes in warning. "You are acting like a child."

"You're no fun!" America pouted.

"Go entertain yourself. I will play with you when I am done."

Now America was pissed. He scrambled off the floor and stomped to his bedroom. Russia was treating him like a child that had misbehaved. That was definitely not how America wanted to be looked at by the nation. America flopped onto his bed with an exasperated moan. He was in a bad mood today. That didn't happen very often.

He heard a splashing sound. He got up and looked out the window. A real cat had fallen into his pool and was now scurrying away.

 _'That's it!_ ' he thought.

The nation immediately took off his clothes and shot on a pair of swimming trunks. He raced down the stairs and into the garden, gaining a confused look from the Russian. Once outside he cannonball dived straight into the swimming pool. The water was a bit chilly, but the young nation quickly got used to the temperature. He swum a few laps before diving under and then shooting back up. He shook his head to get the water out of his eyes and let himself float on his back. Swimming always lifted his spirits.

After an hour of splashing about in the water, Russia finally decided to join him outside.

"What are you doing?" he asked. His tall figure was leaning against the doorframe, and his eyebrow was cocked in the sexiest of ways.

"Swimming of course," America replied before diving under again.

Russia walked over to the edge of the pool and sat down in the grass. America swam towards him.

"Why don't ya come in?" he asked. "The water's great!"

Russia shook his head. "I am fine up here."

"Aaw, come on big guy! It'll be fun!"

"Nyet."

There was a certain undertone to his voice that America couldn't place. He thought about it for a moment, and then his eyes went comically wide with amazement.

"Ivan, do you mean you can't swim?"

The Russian furrowed his brows angrily, but his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

"It's true!" America gasped.

"Do not laugh at me," the other hissed.

"I'm not laughing!" America said, putting his hands up as if pleading for his innocence. "It's just that I never would've expected it."

"Where do you think I would need to swim?" the Russian asked in a cynical tone. Sure he could bring himself to safety were he in danger, but he couldn't do any more than trying not to sink.

"Want me to teach you?"

Russia huffed at him. "Nyet. I do not have swimwear, and I do not need to know how to swim."

"But it's fun!" America whined.

"Nyet," Russia repeated, and he began standing up.

But right at that moment, the cat from earlier ran past him. Russia was startled, and lost his balance. His eyes went huge with shock as he tumbled over, straight into the pool. It was a bit ironic after he'd just said no.

The American instantly swam over to where the nation had entered the water. He dived under, grabbed him by his waist, and pulled him back up. Once at the surface, he helped keep the Russian balanced so he could take in some air. His clothes were soaked and his hair was sticking to his forehead. It almost looked shiny in this lighting. His eyes were still the size of pancakes, and he was clinging helplessly to the American. The pool was too deep for even Russia to stand in.

"Bring me back to the grass!" he demanded, voice a pitch higher due to him being so distressed.

But America had better plans for him.

"No can do Vanya."

The Russian narrowed his eyes, but it was less intimidating with him being so taken by surprise.

"You're already in the water, might as well try getting yourself out huh?"

The Slavic nation pursed his lips in disapproval. "That is a very dirty trick."

"Hey, I'm not the one who pushed you in! I just want to help you! Knowing how to swim can always come in handy."

Russia hung his head in defeat. He knew he wasn't getting out of here by threatening the American, not now that he was so dependent on him.

"If I drown my country will declare war on yours."

"Sure big guy. But first-"

Russia yelped in surprise as America pushed him onto his stomach. He placed his hands under Russia's belly so that he was now floating parallel with the water.

"You just have to know how to move your arms and legs. It's a little harder with clothes on-"

"I am not taking my clothes off," the Russian growled.

"But they'll only pull you down!"

"…Fine."

America pushed Russia back into a vertical position and kept him steady while the other delicately pulled the wet clothes off of his body. America was very pleased with the sight he was now being provided with. Russia only kept his boxers and scarf on, refusing to get rid of the gift of his sister. America really wondered why he was this attached to the thing, but now was not the time to be asking that. He pulled the nation back into the horizontal position and was now touching the bare skin of his belly.

Russia was already blushing fiercely at him being almost naked, but the American touching his skin didn't help things in the slightest.

America calmly instructed him on how to move his limbs. He tried not to get distracted by the sight of Russia's pale and sturdy body lying mere inches away from him, and the feeling of touching it. Learning Russia how to swim was his first priority now.

Eventually, the taller nation managed to get into the right rhythm of moving his limbs. America carefully let go of him, and instead of immediately sinking, he slowly but steadily made his way to the side of the pool. Once there he glanced back, a victorious smile setting his face alight.

"See? I knew you could do it!" America shouted, giving him a thumbs-up.

The American quickly gathered Russia's clothes and brought them to the side as well while the other climbed out of the pool. America looked up just as he got a very good angle on Russia's ass. He gulped and kept swimming. The blond placed the wet clothes on the ground and pushed his body firmly against the side of the swimming pool.

Russia glanced back at him. "Are you coming out as well?"

America shook his head, laughing shakily. "Nah, I'm staying in a little bit longer. You go on ahead."

Russia nodded. He scooped up his clothes and hastily made his way inside, dying to clothe himself.

America waited until he heard the sound of footsteps going up the stairs before leaving the safety of the concrete. He wasn't waiting for a repeat of the embarrassing situation in Florence. It was already bad enough that he couldn't control his body, but Russia didn't need to know that at all.

With a huff of irritation he set to getting himself off. Sometimes it really sucked being stuck in the body of a nineteen-year old bag of hormones.

 _'Thanks a lot you stupid bastard_ ,' he thought bitterly, cursing the Russian for being so oblivious to his body's sensuality.

* * *

The two nations were visiting Navy Pier. America had pulled up his hood and put on a pair of sunglasses as a form of disguise. They had already taken a boat ride around the river, spent some time in the maze, played some mini golf (at which Russia was surprisingly good) and had both eaten a pretzel.

America was feeling more than a little depressed. He had been in love before, but never like this. Never had he wanted to kiss the other so badly but wasn't allowed to at the same time. It was beyond aggravating.

"I want to go in the Ferris Wheel."

America looked up to see where the Russian was pointing at.

He furrowed his brow. "I dunno…"

Russia gazed at him with adorable pleading eyes. "Why not? It seems like fun."

America simply couldn't say no to that look. He had always thought he was the master of the puppy eyes, but Russia wasn't too bad at it himself.

They bought two tickets and waited in line to get in. The sun was already starting to set. America tried to ignore the nagging voice at the back of his mind that wanted to tell him Ferris Wheels were things couples tended to do.

They got into a gondola and waited for the attraction to start up. Russia was looking around excitedly like a child.

 _'It's as if he's never been to an amusement park before…_ ' the young nation thought.

The wheel started spinning and their gondola was lifted off the ground.

"Feast your eyes on this!" America said, gesturing at the view. And Russia did just that.

The wheel kept going higher and higher, until-

It came to an abrupt stop.

"What happened?" Russia inquired, glancing down at the ground.

"Technical difficulties I guess," America grumbled, while taking off his sunglasses. "We'll just have to wait until they start us back up again. But it's better being stuck in a Ferris Wheel than upside-down in a roller coaster."

Russia agreed, even if he had no idea what being stuck upside-down in a roller coaster felt like.

A chilly breeze made America shiver. Russia immediately took off his coat and laid it around his shoulders.

"R-really, you don't have to…" America mumbled shyly, his face heating up.

He suddenly realized they were sitting very close to each other. He tried to scoot over to the side of the gondola, but there wasn't any room left. The blond crossed his arms to keep them from touching the Russian. He would just have to sit this one out.

Russia was gazing at the river beneath them. The orange sun had set the water ablaze and made it glitter like never before. He was about to make a comment on it when his eyes fell upon the American next to him.

The nation's eyes looked bluer with the night's sky as his background. His face was coloured a cute red, and the way the younger nation had curled himself up in his coat was simply adorable. And something else, something indescribable.

Russia's heart sped up as he was overtaken by the irresistible urge to bend over and kiss him. The nation was too captured by the moment to give his actions any thought.

"Alfred."

America turned his head to see Russia's face right next to his. His heart skipped a beat. Those violet eyes looked mesmerizing, especially up close. And they just kept getting closer-

Russia kissed him. America went numb under the unexpected touch. He blinked dumbly, not really knowing what to do. His lips felt really soft and warm and _perfect_ -

Before America could react the moment was over. Russia had retracted and was being his usual smiling self.

"Wh-what was that?" America asked, voice tiny and trembling.

"Friends give each other kisses, right?" the Russian asked.

America felt his hope deflate instantly.

Russia had kissed him because _that's what friends do_.

"R-right…" he answered, looking at the bottom of the gondola.

The tall nation only wanted to be friends. He had known that all along, but the kiss had taken him off guard long enough for him to get his hopes up. Hope that was crushed directly afterwards.

America felt like he could cry. But he didn't.

Heroes don't cry.

* * *

Russia looked at the sleeping figure of his American friend. He hadn't said a word since they'd gotten out of the Ferris Wheel. Russia was worried for him, but also for himself. He did not understand why he had wanted to kiss America. This was already the second time that had happened. It wasn't really the kiss itself Russia had any problems with, it was the aching of his heart that accompanied it.

Tomorrow he was going to do research. He had to find out what these feelings meant.


	26. Confessions of a Vodkaholic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia does some research.

When Russia came downstairs the next morning, he found a note lying on the table.

_Morning bud!_ __Got called away for an emergency meeting at W.D.C._ _Should be back by tonight. Don't bother the neighbors!_ _Your hero,_ _Alfred F. Jones__

Russia chuckled at the 'your hero' part. Typical America. But actually his absence today came at a very convenient time. Now he could do his research without being bothered.

He ate a small but healthy breakfast, after which he brought his laptop to the living room and set it down on the couch beside him. The Russian logged in and immediately went to a search engine. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. What exactly would he ask the Internet? Which question was the most urgent at the moment? The nation decided to start with his heart. It would be bad if he had somehow caught a rare disease. Of course his heart always had its quirks (occasionally jumping out of his chest for example), but now its behaviour had been raised to a whole new level of strangeness.

Russia typed in: pain heart.

As he was waiting for the page to load, America's phone suddenly went over. Apparently he had forgotten to take it with him.

"Zdravstvuite, this is the Russian Federation."

"Ivan? What are you doing with Al's phone?" the caller inquired.

"Alfred has forgotten it on the table. Who is this?" he asked, although he already knew. He just wanted to tease the other.

"It's me, Canada," the caller sighed.

"Ah, Matvey! How are you?"

Canada was pleasantly surprised by Russia's cheerfulness. "Very good, thank you. So Alfred's not there at the moment?"

"Nyet. Would you like to leave a message for him?"

"Well, I guess it actually involves you."

"Oh?" The Russian was now very curious as to what this was all about.

"I would like for you and my brother to come to my house next Sunday. Some other nations are coming too, and I'll be making dinner. It'll be fun!"

"So it is some sort of party?" the Russian asked. He was overjoyed at being invited to something like that; it almost never happened unless out of obligation.

"I guess you could call it that. So what do you say, eh? Can I count you in?"

"Da! I will inform Amerika as soon as he gets home. Until then Matvey!"

"See you next Sunday Ivan!"

Russia was beaming with excitement. He was starting to like the Canadian more and more. The nation had almost forgotten all about his research. That is until his eye caught the screen of his laptop. Russia's mood dropped a little after that.

 _'Maybe it is not so bad_ ,' he tried to encourage himself.

Russia sat down again and clicked on one of the results. The site talked mostly about heart attacks, but he was almost certain that wasn't his problem. It wasn't _his_ pain that was described in the articles. His pain came with irregular intervals, and it felt both intense and bittersweet, if that was any good way to describe it. And more importantly, it only happened when he was close to America.

Russia searched through the sites, looking for something else that better expressed what he was feeling. He found a poem named _Pain Of Broken Heart_. He worriedly looked down at himself. Was his heart breaking somehow? Was that why it hurt? He quickly scanned the poem.

_[Tears of blood fall from my broken heart_ _I never thought we would be apart_

When you held me you said "forever" Now that you're gone I know you meant "never"

Saying you love me with that look in your eye And that was a cold hearted lie

Your tender touch, a soft kiss Two things about you I will miss

As I sit here thinking about you My face is wet with tears past due

I should've cried a long time ago But I loved you so

I know they say love is blind But I had only you on my mind

A hurt so deep it cuts like a knife But wounds heal and I'll go on with my life]

Russia frowned. The poem was too metaphorical. He didn't understand what the writer was talking about at all. His heart wasn't crying tears of blood, and there wasn't anyone that had done something to hurt him as far as he knew. The poet was clearly one of those lovesick cry-babies he had often read about in stories. Russia would have to find an explanation at some other place.

He typed in a new search instruction: heart hurts when with someone. The new results talked mostly about pain when you missed someone. Which wasn't true for Russia in the slightest, he felt the pain when he was WITH someone, not when he was without that person. Although he now remembered that he had also felt it when America had gone away. Maybe then his heart actually was hurting because he missed him? But that still didn't explain why he felt the same when he wasn't missing the younger nation. Russia decided to leave this question be for the time being and tackle some of the other things he had been meaning to look up.

Now he typed in: friends kiss. He was instantly bombarded with video clips of that one show America loved to watch. He scrolled through the results, searching for something that had nothing to do with television. He read an article about kissing on the cheek, but that was not his question. What Russia wanted to know was why he sometimes had the urge to kiss his friend on the mouth.

His eyes fell upon the next site. _You really shouldn't kiss any of your friends_. Russia paused for a moment as he let the meaning of those words sink in. Then, cold sweat broke out. Had he accidently done something wrong by kissing his friend on the mouth? Well, the other hadn't really complained, so it couldn't have been that bad… But maybe America was silently getting fed up with his naivety regarding the rules of friendship? Russia clicked the link and braced himself for the worst.

The article talked a lot about “having a thing for” and “decide whether or not you want to pursue something with this friend.” Russia had no idea what the writer meant by this, so he kept reading. What was this “having feelings for”? Of course he had feelings for America, didn't all friends feel happy around each other? Still, the article kept going on and on about why you shouldn't kiss a friend. Russia was seriously starting to get worried. Then his eye fell upon the worst sentence he could read at that moment: _You definitely shouldn't kiss any of your friends because it will change the relationship that you two have_. Russia stopped reading after that. He instantly pulled out his phone and dialled the first number that came to mind.

"Hello, this is Ukraine! How may I-"

"Big sister!" Russia interrupted her. He had to do his best not to wail.

"Vanya! What is the matter?" Ukraine immediately asked, startled by the sound of his distress.

"I think I have done something terribly wrong!" Russia got up and started pacing around the room.

"Tell me everything."

Russia took a deep breath to try and calm himself. "I have done something the Internet says you should never do with friends!"

"What did you do?" Ukraine pushed on, for once not starting to cry.

"I kissed him on the mouth, and according to the Internet that can destroy your relationship!"

"…But do you not always kiss people as a greeting?"

"Da, but that was before I knew it can destroy friendship! Maybe that is why everyone hates me…"

Ukraine tried to ease her little brother's nerves, telling him nobody hated him and that he shouldn't jump to conclusions.

"I just have been feeling really weird lately…" Russia sighed as he sat down again and curled up on the couch. If felt awfully nice talking to his sister like this. Without her boss calling her away or Ukraine breaking down in tears at the mere sound of his voice. Very comforting indeed.

"What do you mean? Oh Vanya, you aren't sick are you?"

"I do not know. That is why I tried to consult the Internet, but it only gave me results of heart attacks, and I am certain that is not what I am feeling."

"You can tell big sister Ukraine all about it. Maybe I can help?"

Russia swallowed a lump in his throat and began explaining just what he was feeling.

"Well… It is some sort of strange pain in my heart. Only unlike anything I have felt before. It is warm and cold and it hurts but actually it does not all at the same time. And sometimes I feel really happy, but at other times I feel incredibly sad for no apparent reason at all. Oh big sis, I do not know what to do…"

Ukraine remained silent for a moment.

"Hello? Katyusha, are you still there?"

"Yes Vanya, I was just thinking. …You only feel this when you are with Alfred?"

"I do not always have to be with him. But I suppose it does involve him somehow."

"And why are you suddenly worried about the kiss when you have done that so often in the past?" Ukraine pushed on. She had a pretty good idea of what was going on with her sibling, but wanted another affirmation of her suspicions.

"Because it was different this time!" Russia whined. "It was not just a greeting, I had to kiss him! It was as if something or someone else was controlling my body…"

Russia almost fell off the couch when he heard Ukraine squeal loudly in his ear.

"Katyusha? What is the matter?" Russia inquired.

"Oh Vanya, this is simply wonderful!"

The Russian had no idea what on earth she was talking about.

"What is wonderful? What do you mean sis?"

"Vanya, do you not get it? You are in love!"

Time slowed down. Russia blinked dumbly at the phone lying in his hand. He brought it back to his ear. "…Excuse me?"

"It explains everything! That weird feeling in your chest you were talking about, why you want to kiss him- It all makes sense! Oh, I am so happy for you!"

Russia didn't understand at all. "…Love?" he tried, tasting the word. It sounded alien coming from his mouth. "But… Me and Amerika are friends…"

Ukraine ignored him and kept rambling on. "You two probably look so cute together! I cannot wait to tell Natalia about this! Oh wait, she probably won't be so happy about it-"

"Big sister!" Russia cut her off, voice raised in agitation. It successfully stopped Ukraine. But it also made her cry again.

"Katyusha, please do not cry…" Russia wasn't in the mood to deal with tears. The whole situation was starting to feel a bit unreal.

He in love? But he had never been in love before. How could he possibly know if his sister was telling the truth? He decided it was time to call someone else.

"Katyusha, I have to go now. Thank you for listening to me, really. I will call you back later."

"Vanya, wait-"

He cut off the call. Russia knew it wasn't polite to end things like that, but he had to make another call right this instance. He searched for the contact in America's phone named 'Frog-face'.

"Bonjour, France here."

"Privet France, it is Russia. I have to ask you a question."

"Ah, monsieur Russie! Please do ask!"

Russia got right to the point. "What does love feel like?"

France went silent for a bit. When he spoke up again, he sounded less like his normal flirty self, and more like a man who had lived for hundreds of years.

"Love is… difficult to describe. It can make you feel like you can do anything, like you are in heaven. But it can also be painful. Love is said to kill after all."

Russia waited for him to continue, his cellphone almost stuck to his ear.

"It is something nothing can compare with. It is better than having all the money in the world, better than winning wars, better than living in paradise, better than being immortal even, if I do say so myself. But each coin has two sides, and it can also make you go through hell, make you feel like Atlas who has to carry the world on his shoulders."

"But how do you know when you are in love?" Russia asked, his voice almost unrecognizable to his own ears.

"There are no rules for knowing when you are in love. You simply do. You know it when you look at that person, when there is no one more important than him or her. When you want to be with them, touch them, kiss them, when you want to do everything for them. Love is when you feel like dying when you are without that person, but you can get incredibly happy over the smallest things they do or say. L'amour est une catastrophe magnifique."

Russia remained silent, letting the man's explanation sink in. He didn't notice when France kept talking, asking him if he was still there. The phone slipped out of his hands, landing on the ground with a loud thud. But the sound never reached the Russian's ears. His entire being had gone numb.

 _'I am… in love?_ '

xoxox

Russia hadn't moved a muscle by the time he heard the lock on the front door being undone, his body frozen on the couch while thoughts kept spinning through his mind.

"I'm home!"

At those words he finally snapped back to reality. He straightened his figure and pasted on his usual smile. He turned around and greeted the American, successfully hiding his inner struggle. There was one last thought that remained.

_'For the sake of our friendship, I mustn't let Alfred know.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Zdravstvuite: Hello (formal)  
> L'amour est une catastrophe magnifique: Love is a magnificent catastrophe


	27. Tea and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England does some thinking and gets a visit from Flying Mint Bunny.

If you pull back a certain book in England's bookcase, a hidden staircase down to a dungeon-like area will be revealed. Yes, the thing with the book is rather old-fashioned, but so is England at times. Hidden under his house is a dark circular room with moss growing on the stone walls. There, the Englishman practices the art of both White and Black Magic.

While the other nations might laugh at him and his silly hocus-pocus, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is actually a respected magician, or witch, or whatever you want to call it. His grandmother Britannia thought him, and they say she got her knowledge from old magical beings, whether they be the so-called Fey, the pagans, or some old lunatic with a white beard and a pointy hat with (or without) a wand. Point is, she was very powerful, and she tried to teach as many things as possible to the little Brit.

The walls of the room were stuffed to the brink with shelves full of books, flasks filled with oddly coloured liquids and potion ingredients. The books had no titles and torn covers, for a true magician could tell which book was which by pure instinct. Of course England could get it wrong and mess up his spells sometimes, but hey, nobody's perfect. A large cauldron stood by the side, and in the middle of the room a circle was drawn used for summoning demons and other creatures.

The owner of the space and everything in it was currently walking up and down the room, muttering things to himself, clothed in his favourite black cloak (or cape). He was reading a book with a grey dusty cover, and occasionally you could see him throwing things into the cauldron.

"No… That's not it…" the Brit mumbled, turning a page and scanning it with his usual frown in place.

He absentmindedly opened a bottle of pink whatever-it-was and threw it all in the cauldron. He walked past it, not even noticing the smoke that came pouring out of the thing.

He also didn't notice a small green figure appearing in the dark room.

"England! Hey England!"

"No, I'm certain it doesn't work that way…"

Flying Mint Bunny went completely unnoticed by the Brit, and it didn't like that one bit. It flew in front of the nation's face, flailing its arms.

"Hey England! Look at me!"

England had either gone deaf or he was too preoccupied to pay attention to the fuzzy little creature. Flying Mint Bunny puffed its cheeks angrily, but then a strange odour reached its little nose. The creature looked behind, and its eyes widened in terror.

"England! England, the-"

The Brit snapped his book shut.

"Maybe it's in that one…"

"ENGLAND!"

The nation jumped and spun on his heels. He blinked at his little friend hovering in front of his face. Then his frown returned.

"Flying Mint Bunny, don't you know it's very rude to-"

"No time for that, the cauldron-"

But it was too late. With a loud BAM the contents of the black cauldron spontaneously combusted, filling the entire chamber with a thick smoke.

Once the smoke finally disappeared, England could be seen again, coughing hoarsely and face covered with ash.

"Wha*cough*t on e*cough*arth?!" the blond exhaled.

"I warned you!" Flying Mint Bunny giggled. It had disappeared in time to avoid the explosion, and now reappeared just to tease the nation.

"Couldn't you have *cough* done so sooner?"

The creature put its little arms on its almost non-existent thighs. "I did, you just wouldn't listen!"

England cautiously walked over to the biohazard and glanced in to find a thick mud-coloured sludge.

"I know, I know. My apologies chap, I'm just a bit out of it lately."

Bunny's eyes saddened in concern. "That's why I came to see you."

England's emerald eyes hovered over his little friend, looking but not actually seeing. His mind seemed to have trailed off to some distant land, something that happened quite often nowadays.

Flying Mint Bunny snapped its fingers next to England's ear, pulling him from his state. England cocked an eyebrow at him, not really understanding how a rabbit could snap its fingers but not questioning it either.

"England. Talk to me."

"About what?"

"You know what."

The Brit stared at his friend for a moment before sighing. "Fine. Come with me, I'll make some tea."

England took off his cloak/cape and hung it by the door. He glanced back a moment before going up the stairs; he would clean that mess up at a later time. Flying Mint Bunny followed him to the kitchen where he started working on some tea with a basis of valerian. The herb was supposed to work well against insomnia, tensions, anxiety, headaches, and it was supposed to lower the blood pressure. Since England felt like he had all of those symptoms at the moment, he hoped the tea would help calm his nerves. The Brit gave a cube of sugar to his little friend before setting the kettle on the stove.

"Chocolate chip cookie? Made them myself."

Flying Mint Bunny politely declined. Even the magical creatures could be a bit wary of the Brit's cooking talents. Bunny sat down on the table, giving its tiny wings a moment's rest. It looked up at the other with big beady black eyes, waiting for him to start talking. England rested his head on his right hand and was lost in thought once again.

"What were you making?"

England looked over at him. "Come again?"

"Down there? What were you trying to make?"

The Englishman looked a bit disgruntled. "Nothing much really. Just felt like mixing up some-"

"England, you never 'just mix up things'. You always have a purpose, always."

The Brit snorted. His magical friend knew him too well.

"Fine then. I _was_ trying to make something, all right? It just didn't work out that well is all."

"And that something is…?" the bunny pushed on, motioning for the nation to elaborate.

Strangely enough, England's face turned a bit pink at its urging. The bunny cocked its head curiously.

"I was… trying to find a recipe for love. And now don't ask anymore!"

Bunny blinked. "A recipe for love?"

England scowled at the thing and was about to tell it to mind its own business, but was interrupted by a whistling sound. He got to his feet and went to the stove to prepare his tea. He really needed something to get rid of that relentless headache right now. It hadn't left him ever since… ever since Florence really.

Once seated again with a cuppa in his hands, Bunny pushed itself into his peripheral vision once more.

"Why do you want to find a recipe for love? Love is a feeling, not a scientific formula." Of course you could make love potions, but love itself couldn't be captured in a spell or curse.

England's look gained something desperate. "Please Flying Mint Bunny, don't ask. It was just… foolishness. Better to forget it ever happened."

The bunny laid its tiny paw on England's hand. "England, you are a friend. We are all worried about you. The fairies, Uni, Captain Hook, the wisps… Please, tell me what's on your mind."

The Brit groaned and laid his head down on the surface of the table. "Fine, fine. I'll enlighten you."

He sighed, took a sip of his tea (nearly burning his tongue because it was still way too hot), and started talking.

"Well, for one there is Russia."

Bunny nodded patiently, motioning for him to continue.

"Or not exactly Russia, it's Alfred I'm worried for. Boy thinks he can challenge the world, but he always ends up getting into trouble. You heard him when he was here, the fool has actually fallen in love with that bastard!"

"Is there something wrong with that?" the creature asked.

England growled. "Of course there's something wrong with that! It's Russia of all nations! He cannot be trusted! What if he's only using Alfred? What if he ends up hurting him? I just know this will end badly!"

"Do you?"

"Yes I do! With Russia there is simply no other outcome!"

Flying Mint Bunny floated in front of England's face, studying his features. The Brit blinked.

"Wh-what?"

"England, are you jealous?"

England's eyebrows almost went rigid as he knit them together and gave his harshest scowl.

"Please Flying Mint Bunny, not you too? I've already had to endure this with the frog, I don't want you to jump to the wrong conclusions as well!"

The bunny inched closer. "Are they wrong?"

"Yes, of course they are! For Heaven's sake, do you know how much you sound like that wine-loving idiot right now?" England almost slammed his fist on the table in his anger.

The bunny sat back down and started washing its ears. "Fine, then you're not jealous." Even though he did look a bit too defensive about the topic in Bunny's opinion. "But what about France?"

England's eyes hovered down, carrying a distracted look. "What about him?"

The bunny looked up, now getting a bit impatient. "What are your feelings for him? If you're not in love with America, then what do you feel for France?"

England paused. His frown dissolved into something more sorrowful.

"I-I… I don't know. I simply don't know lad." If he _had_ known, he wouldn't be sitting here, trying to nurse his headache with a cup of tea. He wouldn't have been worrying about his feelings for the last few days, and he definitely wouldn't have tried to find a recipe for love. If he had known, life would be a lot more simple.

The rabbit hung its ears at seeing the expression on the nation's face. The creature didn't like for England to be in this state of mind. His spirits had been lifted momentarily when America was staying here, but now he almost looked depressed. Bunny would love to cheer him up, but it didn't know how. Feelings were something you had to sort out for yourself.

Bunny perked up. There was something it could do to help. It could at least try. The bunny flew over and sat on England's shoulder.

"Maybe you should try doing a little brain exercise."

The Brit glanced over at the thing parked on his shoulder. "What kind of exercise?"

"If you try looking at your feelings step by step, then maybe you won't get a headache out of it. For example, you begin by asking yourself whether or not you hate him. If the answer's yes, you just stop. But if it's no, you can go on to the next feeling. Something like that."

The Brit smirked and his eyes smoothened melancholically. "If only life was that simple, Flying Mint Bunny. Thanks for trying either way."

Their little conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. England glanced over at the clock. A quarter to eleven. Now who on earth was visiting him at this late hour?

As the Englishman opened his door, he was met by the face of France. A very, very drunk France. And he was crying on top of that.

"Angleteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerre~" the Frenchman whined, letting his body slump against the Brit as soon as the door was opened. England barely caught him, wincing at the strong smell of alcohol coming from his breath and clothes. The half-empty (yes, England was a pessimist) wine bottle was still clutched in his shaking hand.

"Why won' you calllll back, why won't you loooooooooooooove me~~?" he hiccupped, big soppy tears streaming down his face.

England closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. There would be no reasoning with the nation tonight, not when he was this drunk. England didn't really feel like nursing him back to being sober, especially not after what had happened last time they saw each other, but he was still a gentleman. He couldn't just send France away when he clearly couldn't even stand properly.

"All right, all right," he tried to hush the sobbing nation.

He pulled an arm over his shoulder and used other his hand to support the Frenchman before dragging him to the living room. He didn't feel like bringing him to the guest bedroom; with the way the man let his legs drag across the floor, he probably couldn't get up the stairs properly. France was slurring in French, and England just let him be. He'd rather have him here drunk than sober at the moment, at least now they wouldn't have to talk properly.

Flying Mint Bunny eyed the nation suspiciously. "Are you letting him stay here?"

England sighed. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Bunny nodded. "I'll be going then. Good luck!" Before the creature left though, it smiled wryly. "I guess you do care enough to take him in when he comes knocking at your door."

"Of course I care-" England had begun to say, but the creature had already disappeared. England growled. What exactly was Flying Mint Bunny implying? He wasn't some heartless bastard to send nations in need away! Especially not ones he'd known for this long. Even if they were perverts that gave him headaches and if their love confessions came with an assault.

England helped the Frenchman lay down on his couch. France sloppily tried to kiss him, but the Brit easily pushed him off. "And don't go throwing up on my couch, or you'll have to clean it yourself," he warned, before leaving the man to his own devices.

At around three in the morning when England came down to grab a glass of water, he checked on his unexpected guest. The man was sleeping, but he had large bags under his eyes, he looked like he desperately needed a shave and a shower, and he smelled really bad. The Brit's cat-like eyes scanned for any more signs of neglect, and found them without any effort. Buttons in the wrong button-holes, pants a size too big, shoelaces untied, nails rimmed as if bitten on.

The Englishman went to search through a closet before returning with a blanket. He gently laid it over the Frenchman, careful as not to disturb his sleep. England groaned.

"Just what am I to do with you, you bloody dimwit?"


	28. Meet my boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canada gives a dinner party.

America was talking about who he would team up with if a zombie apocalypse were to happen.

The two of them were sitting in a taxi, heading for Canada's house in Ottawa. The sun was shining brightly and the mood was pleasant.

"-I just don't think Iggy would be the best guy to bring if you wanna fight zombies, you know? He'd probably try to add them to his pile of imaginary friends. No, I guess if anybody, I should take you."

Russia curiously tilted his head. "Me?"

The American nodded. "Yeah, you can go all psycho on their asses! I bet together we could kick some major zombie butt!"

Russia chuckled.

America kept blabbering on about unimportant business while the Russian studied him. The sunlight falling on his hair gave it a golden tint, his smile was big enough to provide an entire city of energy, and his electric blue eyes were twinkling with excitement at the thought of spending some time with his brother. Russia couldn't believe he had never noticed how enchanted he was by the nation's looks. Yes, he could say without lying that France looked good, that Veneziano was cute, and that his sisters were both well-formed (when looked at by other nations of course). But only America could be described as stunning, attractive, sexy, adorable, hot and handsome all at the same time. Russia had no idea how a nation his age could not recognize l'amour (like France had called it) when it was being shoved into his face.

But now he knew. He finally understood all of the symptoms.

So now he could suppress his feelings.

True, Russia had always been very good at hiding his emotions, but now he knew what NOT to do if he didn't want America to freak out.

"Oh look, we're here!"

The young nation was almost jumping up and down in his seat, which Russia found very endearing to look at.

They paid the driver, took out their bags and walked over to Canada's front door. Well, Russia strolled, America raced like he had taken in too much caffeine. He rang the bell numerous times, impatiently waiting for his brother to open up. Russia really wondered what had gotten him this over-the-top energetic, so he decided to ask.

"Well, this is the first time we'll all hang out together! You know, with you being there as well."

"I see…"

Suddenly Russia felt very nervous. With his thoughts being occupied by a certain nation who looked like he was doing a tap-dance at a million miles an hour right now, he had forgotten the fact that there would be other people as well at this little party. He certainly liked Canada, but not knowing who else was going to be there made him uneasy. He felt his socially awkward side taking over again.

 _'But is that not the whole point? You making more friends?'_ a part of his mind thought. Yes, that _had_ been the original plan. But now he would prefer to just lift up his American and sprint back home, where it would be just the two of them.

When they heard the sound of footsteps coming closer to the door, a strange thought crossed America's mind.

_'This is kinda like I'm introducing my boyfriend to my parents…'_

Then the door swung open, revealing a nation who most definitely was not America's brother.

The American frowned. "What are you doing here?"

The albino who was leaning casually against the doorframe grinned cockily. "Kesesesesese! Did Matthew not inform you? We're co-hosting this thing! Now it will be awesome!"

He stepped aside and gestured to come further into the house.

"Mi casa es su casa, like Tonio would say! Oh, but wipe your feet." He sent an over-confident glare at Russia before turning around and leisurely walking away with his hands in his pockets.

America felt his eye twitch. Russia placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"If you want to, I can make him disappear, da?" he said darkly, purple aura beginning to spread and a wide demonic grin on his face.

America, already used to his little scary outbursts, shrugged off his hand and shook his head. "Sorry bud, but I'll take care of this one myself."

He marched inside (briefly wiping his feet), and straight into the kitchen, where Prussia and Canada were having a relaxed conversation. America accusingly pointed a finger at the Prussian, face set on dramatic.

"Mattie, why is he here?!"

Canada looked up, smiling gently. "Oh, hi Alfred! And didn't Gil tell you? He's the one who wanted to get us all together for dinner."

The sunny blond paused. "Wait, this isn't your idea?"

Canada shook his head. "Nope. But when he suggested it, I thought it was a nice idea." His soft voice sounded genuinely happy.

The Prussian sent the Canadian a gleeful smile. "It wasn't a nice idea Birdie, it was an awesome idea!" he cackled.

America narrowed his eyes. Sure, Prussia was a fun guy to go out drinking with, but he somehow didn't trust the albino when it came to his sibling. Maybe his brotherly instincts were kicking in or something. He sent his brother a look that said "Why haven't you told me about this?", which Canada answered to with a shy blush.

Meanwhile Russia had showed up right behind the American. His shadow loomed over the room, and his eyes shone dangerously as he directed a violent glare at the Prussian. Canada noticed his presence, and waved at him.

"Hello Ivan! Glad to see you could make it, eh?"

Russia interrupted his glaring contest to send him a smile (a nice one), before returning his attention to the red-eyed nation. America however was now glancing back and forth between his brother and the Russian.

 _“Ivan?”_ he mouthed.

The other shrugged and smiled. America sent him a small thumbs-up and a grin, happy his friend was apparently being nice to his brother. Then he remembered the Prussian, and his look turned into a scowl once more.

Prussia was unfazed by their glaring, smirking widely. His red eyes flashed a “come at me, I dare you!”

Before the silence could grow too heavy, the doorbell rung once more.

"I'll go get it!" Canada hastily said, scurrying away from the battlefield.

As soon as he left the kitchen, America took a step forward and grabbed Prussia by his collar.

"Listen here you! I don't know what you're planning with my brother, but if he's hurt, I'm coming over to your place to bash your head in!"

Prussia's eyebrows were raised in disbelief. He was not impressed by the threat.

"There will be no need for that, kleine Dinge. Me and Birdie are dating, nothing wrong with that."

America tightened his grip.

"I don't know what you just called me, but I do not like your attitude! Now wipe that smirk off your face and tell me if you're serious about this!"

Prussia was about to make another sarcastic comment when he noticed the look on the Russian's face. The view of that was a lot more convincing, so Prussia gulped and his eyes softened.

"Look Alfred. I like Matthew, and as far as I know he likes me too. End of Story. Well, not that there's anything to dislike about the Awesome Me, but let's not talk about that right now. Have I ever done anything to make you this suspicious?"

"You keep rambling on about your five meters and conquering Austria's vital regions, and you drink beer like its water."

"Okay on the first two things, but don't you dare make fun of the most awesome drink on earth! Still, I mean it when I say I like your brother. And there's simply nothing you can do about it."

America was about to tell him that there was a lot he could do about it, when Gilbird landed on his head and started pecking him.

"Oooooooooow! Get that thing off me!" America yelped, trying to swat the bird away.

Russia stared, not sure if he should start giggling or get rid of the chick.

"Don't hurt Gilbird!" Prussia screeched, trying to catch his little friend as it was flying circles around America's head.

It was then that Canada came back with England and France by his side.

England immediately started shouting at the American for him to calm down, while Prussia finally captured the yellow chick. He swiftly scanned it for any injuries, relieved to see there were none. Russia was trying to blend in with the shadows, creepy little smile in place to hide his discomfort. France was just staring at the scene with little interest, clearly trying and failing to recover from a heavy hangover, even though it was already four in the afternoon. Canada went over to the Prussian, asking him if everything was fine with him, which earned the albino another glare from America. Then England noticed Russia, and the two of them started another staring contest. France still looked like a living corpse. Then America and Prussia started shouting again, insulting each other with every piece of profanity they could think of.

"Guys?" Canada asked, whisper not rising above the noise.

He tried again, but still went unnoticed.

Then suddenly, the Canadian had enough of it all.

"Everyone shut it!" he shouted.

All the nations froze and looked at him with the greatest surprise showing in their features. Canada smiled, seeing he finally got their attention.

"Now why don't we just all go to the living room, eh? This is a friendly get-together, not a shouting competition!"

America opened his mouth to speak up, but Canada sent him the harshest scowl in his arsenal. Which was really harsh for a nation as shy and gentle as the Canadian.

"I said, _let's go to the living room_."

Nobody dared to argue with him as they all drooped off, tails between their legs. All of them settled on the two couches, Prussia next to France and America in between his brother and former caretaker. Canada had to move to the other couch however, as Russia almost sat on him (this time more out of habit than to tease their obviously peeved host).

"That's better!" Canada said, voice turning soft again now that everyone had settled down.

"So, you came here with France?" America tried to start a conversation with England.

The Brit frowned.

"Yes, but I'm not talking to that frog!" he directed those last words at the Frenchman seated across of him. France flinched, almost shrinking back into the fabric of the piece of furniture.

America stared at the both of them, not understanding why England was so angry.

"What's the matter?" he whispered hesitantly, in case the Englishman would start yelling at him as well.

England leant over to him to whisper the answer in his ear, not noticing the hurt look in France's eyes as he did so.

"That bloody wine-lover came over to my house last night, drunk as a skunk, and threw up all over my china! I hope for that bastard that the smell will disappear!"

America had to try his hardest to hide a snort. "So I guess you two are good again?"

England scowled disapprovingly at him. "You guessed wrong. And now I don't want to hear about it anymore. It's already bad enough I had to spend a plane-ride with that wanker."

America slumped back, not liking it when the Brit was this upset. Russia, who had been listening in but didn't understand what their conversation was about, bent over to whisper in America's other ear. The American shuddered at the pleasant tickling of his breath.

"What is wrong with Angliya?"

America then started to explain to him what had happened these past few days between his ex-brother and the French nation.

Over on the other couch, both Canada and Prussia were trying to cheer up France. But the Frenchman was just not in a cheerful mood today. So Canada decided to do something else.

"Let's play Monopoly!" he said, running over to his room to grab the box.

America, who had finished his story and was always up for a game, ran after his brother.

Right after they left, a polar bear cub came walking into the living room. He scanned the guests, sniffed the air, and then hobbled over to the Russian.

"Hey," it's voice sounded.

Russia looked down, eyes big and curious.

"Food?" Kumajiro asked.

Russia slowly shook his head. "Nyet, I do not have food."

The bear blinked lazily, not making a move to try asking somebody else. Slowly, the tall nation pulled out his bottle of vodka. He unscrewed it and held it in front of the cub.

"Is this good?"

Kumajiro sniffed at the contents, but apparently didn't like the smell as it scrunched its nose and shook its head. Russia giggled at the silly display. He took a swig himself before putting the bottle back in his pocket. Kumajiro was still interested in him. It set its front paws on top of Russia's knees and pulled itself up. The nation stared at the bear as it nestled itself in his lap, curled up, and fell right asleep. Russia hesitantly started petting its back, earning a few approving noises.

England scowled at the cub for betraying the other nations by favouring the psychotic Russian, Prussia cackled loudly at the sight of it and even France smiled a bit.

Upstairs, America had caught up to his brother.

"Mattie, quick question," he asked as Canada pulled out the box of Monopoly.

"Hm? What is it Al?" the gentle nation asked innocently.

"Do you like Prussia? As in like like?"

Canada's face went red, but he nodded.

"And you know this since when?"

Canada turned to face his brother. "Alfred, I swear I didn't lie to you back at Florence. It's just that… Well, after our talk, things sort of… escalated."

America's eyes went wide with shock, his face went beet red and he clasped his hands over his ears.

"Eeeeeeeew, Mattie that's too much information! I seriously did NOT need to hear that! I'm just gonna forget it ever happened! Shit, now it's already stuck in my head! I need brain bleach!"

Canada chuckled awkwardly at the American's flustered ramblings.

"But I would appreciate it if you two got along better," the Canadian continued, having noticed the hostility between his brother and lover.

America suddenly went serious. "Matthew Williams, I have a very important question to ask you. As your brother I must know it. Are you in love with Prussia?"

Canada's smile faltered.

"I-I… I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I like him a lot. It's just, we've only been dating for a short time now. It's too soon to talk about love, you see? Right now we just want to have fun together, nothing else."

America thought about Russia for a brief moment, and his face hardened. How he wished he could be like his sibling, just having fun in a relationship. But no, he was stuck having feelings for a guy who probably didn't even know what love is. He could imagine Russia saying something along the lines of "Love? What is that, something you can eat?"

America sighed. "Fine, I'll leave Gilbert alone," he surrendered, going back to calling the Prussian by his human name now that he wasn't a possible threat to his brother anymore.

Canada studied his face a little longer, before grabbing the Monopoly box and smiling.

"Come on Al, let's go play. Just like old times, eh?"

America's smile returned as well.

"Just like old times," he affirmed.

"Oh and Alfred?"

"Hm?"

"He doesn't really have five meters."

"TOO MUCH INFORMATION! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Kleine Dinge: Little thing  
> Angliya: England


	29. Good Morning Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the stay at Canada's.

Dinner was going quite smoothly, considering France was depressed, Russia was trying to keep his food away from a hungry polar bear, England was sending out waves of stick-in-the-muddiness, and America and Prussia were having a little food fight. Canada was stuck in the middle, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

"Hey bwo, dese buwgews aw awazin! Whaze secwet ingwedient?" America shouted, spitting food all over the table.

England shuddered at the display of such bad manners. France just kept picking at his food, for once not in the mood to praise his son's cooking. Russia was still too busy trying to make Kumajiro understand that the steak on his plate was not for the bear.

Prussia leant over the table, smirking evilly. "The secret ingredient is anchovies!"

America blinked three times. He looked at his burger, then back at the Prussian, then back at his burger.

"…You're joking, right?"

"Nope~"

America promptly stuffed the burger in Prussia's face, after which their battle continued.

When everyone had finished eating (Kumajiro had gotten a piece of Russia's steak after all), Canada pulled out some home-made chocolate mousse from the fridge.

"Grub's up!" America yelled, before digging in.

England had long since given up on telling him he should eat with his mouth, not his entire face. Russia simply chuckled at the sight of him enjoying it so much. Canada took Kumajiro in his lap, preventing the animal from begging for Russia's dessert as well.

Afterwards they went back to the living room to watch _The Rocky Horror Picture Show,_ a film they all enjoyed (although Russia hid his face in his scarf at the sex scenes, but this luckily went unnoticed by the other nations).

Then a problem arose: room arrangements. Canada only had his own room and one guest room, so the other two would have to sleep on the couch. Question was: who was going to sleep in the double bed?

"Me and Birdie are taking his room, of course," Prussia cackled smugly.

"Nuh uh! I don't want you two doing dirty stuff while we're here!" America huffed with crossed arms, ignoring Canada's raging blush.

"I'm sleeping anywhere but with the frog," England growled, still not having forgiven the Frenchman for his previous assault.

Russia didn't care, as long as he would be in the same room as America. Not because he couldn't be without him, but because he didn't want anyone else to sleep with his American.

"Then I'll sleep with Al, Gil and Francis share a bed, and Arthur with Ivan…?" Canada hesitantly tried. He was immediately met by a roaring NO from both Russia and England.

"I'm fine with anyone as long as Mattie doesn't sleep in the same bed as Prussia!" America stated, making his point more than clear.

"All right, then what about this?" Canada suddenly yelled, losing his temper. That was twice today, the other nations were starting to fear for his well-being. Or maybe Prussia's loudness was rubbing off on him?

"I share a room with Arthur, Francis and Gil sleep down here on the couch, and Al and Ivan share the other bed!"

They went silent for a bit, contemplating it.

"Fine, I guess," Prussia pouted, wanting to sleep with his lover of course.

France just shrugged. "I have no objections."

"Da, I agree."

"That's fine by me," England admitted. He cocked an eyebrow at America, silently asking if he would be able to endure sleeping in the same bed as the older nation.

America grinned his hero-smile. "Sure, nothing wrong with that!" On the inside he was dying.

Less than an hour later, America was lying on his side of the bed, waiting for Russia to come out of the bathroom and join him. He was very nervous, which was to be expected. The last time he and Russia had shared a bed, he couldn't sleep at all.

His muscles tensed as he heard the bathroom door open and close. Soft footsteps, a dip in the mattress, and Russia was lying next to him.

"Goodnight Alfred," Russia said softly, not noticing the other's tenseness due to his own nerves.

"'Night," America muttered back.

The lights went out and America could hear and feel the Russian positioning himself. Then things went quiet.

America waited for Russia's breathing to slow down. It didn't, although he couldn't be sure of it. The blue-eyed nation was facing the wall, so he had no idea when the Russian was going to fall asleep. He tried to make no noise as he rolled onto his other side so he could look at Russia's face.

His eyes were closed peacefully, and his chest was slowly going up and down.

"…Ivan?" America whispered, trying to speak as quietly as possible.

No response. America rapidly decided what he wanted to do.

He started slowly moving towards the Russian, stopping every time the older nation moved or took a deeper breath. He stopped at a mere inches away.

"…Vanya?" he whispered again, voice almost going unnoticed to even himself. After all, if Russia really were asleep, he didn't want to wake him up.

Still no response.

America closed the remaining distance and curled up next to his Russian. He gingerly placed his forehead against the nation's broad chest, and closed his eyes to try and catch some sleep. His eyes shot open again as Russia suddenly wrapped an arm around him.

"I-Ivan?" he yelped, adrenaline racing through his body.

Russia giggled softly. "Dear Alfred, I thought you were not one to cuddle with your friends?"

After a moment of incomprehensible stuttering, America remembered how to speak English (or American as he himself called it sometimes).

"W-well, for you I could make an exception…" he muttered, glad the darkness could hide his fierce blush.

America had no idea how happy Russia felt at hearing this. He squeezed the smaller nation a little tighter, before closing his eyes with a satisfied sigh.

"If you want to cuddle, just tell me Fedya. Now, goodnight."

"G-goodnight…"

America willed his heart to slow down. He briefly looked up to search Russia's face for any dishonesty, but when he found none, he closed his eyes as well and laid his head back on his Russian pillow. Yes, he liked sleeping like this considerably better than sleeping on the edge of the bed. At least now he wouldn't have to fight the urge to touch the taller nation.

They both fell asleep shortly afterwards, snoozing in each other's warmth.

* * *

"…Arthur, are you still awake?"

"I am now, Matthew," a voice with a very distinct British accent sighed.

Canada hugged the polar bear close to his body.

"How are things between you and Francis?"

England let out a growl. "Good Heavens boy, not you too! Can't all of you understand that my love life is none of your business?!"

"…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," Canada whispered timidly.

The British nation sighed again. "That's all right lad. Sorry for lashing out at you."

"No problem. But Arthur, I'm only worried for you. I have lived with both you and Francis, but I've never seen you so down before. It makes me wish I could help somehow."

England fell silent for a moment. Canada could see his eyes almost glowing in the dark as they were locked with the ceiling.

"I'm sorry for worrying you Matthew. I really am," he finally spoke. "It's just that I don't know what to do."

"Are you feeling confused?" the Canadian asked.

"Bloody right I'm confused!" the Brit snorted.

Canada sat up in the bed. "What are you confused about?"

England paused for a moment before slowly beginning to sit up as well. He didn't know if it was because of the darkness surrounding them or because he was talking to Canada, but the nation suddenly felt like sharing his thoughts.

"Well, first of all, it's France! The frogface is a pervert, he flirts with _everyone_ , he can't keep his hands to himself… He's France, what more need I say?"

Canada remained silent, letting the Brit relieve the weight on his shoulders.

"All we do is fight! I've known the guy for ages, and not a century has passed without us bickering! How is anyone supposed to be in a relationship with someone like that? And then all that nonsense about Alfred…"

Canada tilted his head. "What about Al?"

England snorted. "Bloody wanker's got it into his head that I'm in love with America of all nations! Me! With Alfred Foster fucking Jones! Please, I've practically raised the kid!"

Canada chuckled, but didn't make any noise otherwise. He was sure that not everybody would see a problem with that (seeing as they were countries, not humans), but he just couldn't fathom the Englishman loving his obnoxious brother.

"And then-" England cut himself short.

Canada waited for the nation to continue. When nothing came, he quietly asked: "What is it Arthur?"

England turned to look him in the eye. Vivid green clashed with smooth mauve. And for the first time in his existence, Canada felt older than the Brit. For from what little he could see of England's face, it just read embarrassment, insecurity and maybe a little anxiety.

"I-I… I don't know how to love."

Canada didn't move a muscle, fearing he would push the Brit into defence. He didn't want him to close up again, not now that he was finally being so open with him.

"H-honestly. I wouldn't have a clue. I mean, sure I've been in plenty of _those_ sort of relationships-" Canada knew exactly what England meant by _those_ relationships. "-but I've never actually _loved_ anyone before." England chuckled darkly. "Who would love me anyway? I'm a grumpy old man, I'm a former hoodlum, I'm the black sheep of Europe, I'm shorter than a lot of other nations, I'm not the most muscular around, I swear continuously, people think I am insane, nobody ever takes me serious, and all I ever seem to do right is push people away from me."

England hadn't noticed he was crying until Canada reached out a hanky. He gratefully took it.

"S-sorry lad… You must think of me as a complete fool. An old man blubbering his heart out is not appropriate in the slightest."

Canada gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Francis does."

England froze, still holding the handkerchief. His emerald green eyes slowly looked up at the Canadian.

"What's that Matthew?"

"I said Francis loves you. Me and Alfred do too, only not in a romantic way. But Francis definitely loves you, more than he would ever show. Don't be so hard on yourself Arthur. There is plenty to love in you. You're funny, you're kind, you tell amazing bedtime stories, and sorry if it sounds wrong coming out of my mouth, but you're incredibly good-looking. So please, don't you dare ever speak so badly of yourself again."

Tears were flooding out of the Brit's eyes as Canada wrapped his arms around him.

"Th-thank you Matthew," he wailed.

The Canadian smiled. He was getting better and better at comforting others.

"Arthur… You may not like it, but I think you should talk with Francis. Just tell him that you don't know, he'll understand. Maybe it'll take away some of the confusion, eh? But I just can't stand seeing you two like this, so something _has_ to change."

England nodded into his shoulder, too tired to argue. Maybe the younger nation was right, maybe talking _would_ solve things.

England hoped it would.

* * *

"What do you mean Iggy and Francis already left?" America asked after arriving downstairs.

Prussia shrugged. "Francis left really early, saying he still had work to do."

"And when Arthur heard he was gone, he left as well," Canada added from behind the stove. He of course knew the real reason behind England's sudden disappearing, but that was private business between him and the Brit.

"Huh," was America's intellectual answer.

"Dobroe utro!" Russia chirruped as he entered the kitchen, after which he sat down on the nearest chair.

"Morning Ivan!" Canada answered.

Prussia simply gave him a cocky grin/glare, before feeding Gilbird some birdseeds. Kumajiro came strolling into the kitchen as well, and the cub immediately went over to Russia.

"Food," it said.

"Why do you always want my food?" Russia asked the cub after allowing it to crawl into his lap.

Kumajiro stared at him with beady black eyes.

"I like you," it stated.

Russia blinked a few times, and then hid his face in his scarf to hide a happy smile.

"Are those pancakes I smell?" the American inquired, taking in the scent.

"Yup!"

Canada swatted Prussia's hand away as he tried to tear off a piece.

"Wait till it's done Gil!" he scolded, but his eyes shone playfully.

America watched them warily, still not liking the way things had turned out between the two of them. He had no idea why, but something about 'Prussia', 'Canada' and 'boyfriend' in the same sentence made his hair stand on edge. But as long as Prussia didn't openly do anything wrong against his brother, he couldn't act. So he would just have to go with the flow.

Suddenly, he felt a hand in his hair. He looked to the side, and almost jumped out of his chair when he all but brushed noses with Russia.

"I-Ivan?" he squeaked. His face immediately started burning.

But then Russia moved back, holding a little fluff in his hand.

"There was dust in your hair, da? I removed it." He smiled at the American, and then returned to the cub in his lap that was begging for his attention.

America looked at the other two nations in the room. Prussia was sending him a knowing mien, smirking smugly. The look on Canada's face was unreadable.

His brother turned off the stove and marched over to him.

"We need to talk," he hissed, before pulling America out of his chair and dragging him to his room. After closing the door, he pinned the American to the wall.

"Alfred, you hypocrite!" he shouted, which sounded like speaking on a regular level to most others.

America swallowed. "Wha-what do you mean Mattie?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"You know very well what I mean! You distrust me with Gilbert, but then you don't tell me shit when you hook up with Ivan!"

America tried to calm his brother down, ignoring the blush that was now painting his entire body.

"Matt, you've got it all wrong! Ivan's not my boyfriend!"

Canada's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Don't lie to me Alfred! We all saw how you reacted when he almost kissed you!"

America hung his head. "He wouldn't kiss me in that way…"

Canada raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

America swallowed the lump in his throat. "…In a romantic way. Kissing is… For Ivan, kissing is something friends do."

The Canadian paused at seeing the way his brother was acting now.

"…Alfred, do you mean that you wish he would kiss you? In a romantic way?"

America shyly looked up, playing with the zipper of his sweater. He looked like a kid that had to confess to his parents that he had done something wrong.

"Do you think that's weird?" he hesitantly asked.

Canada let go of him, no longer pushing him against the wall.

"No Al, I don't think it's weird. Russia isn't as bad as everyone gives him credit for. Tell me, how long has this been going on?"

America shrugged and looked at the ground. "Dunno. Quite some time, but it took a while for me to notice it."

Canada's expression changed into a sympathetic one.

"I wish you would've told me, Al. You know you can talk to me about these things."

"Thanks Mattie," America softly said.

Canada looked at the door, as if expecting someone to be there.

"And you're sure Ivan doesn't want to kiss you because he likes you?"

America nodded. "He even said so himself. For him, kissing is normal between friends."

Canada gave his brother a short hug. "Sorry Al."

"That's okay. I'm the hero, I can take it," America said with a crooked grin.

The gentle nation smiled.

"Let's go to the kitchen again. I hope Gilbert hasn't eaten all of the pancakes."

"He wouldn't dare!" America growled, before taking his brother by the hand and storming down the stairs.

Canada giggled. "Ready for a double-date?"

"Mattieeeeeeee, don't make me think about that!" America whined.


	30. Un sentiment d'affection et d'attachement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England goes to talk with France, telling him his mind once and for all.

France was wandering through his house, feeling almost depressed.

He had no idea why, but since a couple of days ago he just couldn't take his mind off the Brit. Yes, he had constantly thought about him even before that, but now he was literally unable to think about anything else. He was slacking in his work, he always had a bottle of wine somewhere near him, he didn't take care of his appearance, not even his best friends could cheer him up now. France hadn't felt this bad ever since Joan of Arc died. He had even ran from Canada's party, realizing he wasn't the best company at the moment.

A wave of self-pity brought the bottle to his lips.

He was pulled out of his dazed state by the sound of a bell ringing. France reluctantly dragged his feet over to the front door, not feeling up for having guests over.

The Frenchman opened the door to reveal a very determined-looking England.

His heart skipped a beat.

"A-Angleterre-?" he began, but England impatiently clacked his tongue, brushed past him, and marched over to the living room. France quickly shut the door and followed him.

The Brit halted in the middle of the room and turned to face the French nation, frowning heavily and arms folded in front of his chest. His (beautiful) green eyes shone fiercely.

"First of all, you're a real jerk for putting me through this all."

France said nothing, waiting for the other to go on.

"Secondly, you are the biggest idiot I have ever met for thinking I am in love with Alfred."

France lifted his head, expression set on exasperate.

"But you are-" England put a hand up to cut him off.

"Let me finish!"

The Frenchman almost bit his tongue in his haste to stop talking.

"I love America like a parent, you nincompoop! I love him, but I am most definitely not _in love_ with him! What on earth gave you that unholy idea?!"

France looked at the ground. "I just know. It has to be true. You smile more when he is around, and you were truly devastated after-after… you know…" He didn't really want to mention the Revolutionary War right now.

"And it never occurred to you that I was worried about him? All right, I'll admit, sometimes I do treat Alfred like he's still a little boy, and maybe I shouldn't. But it's his own fault for being so bloody childish!"

He took in a breath before continuing.

"I still worry for him, even now that he's not a colony anymore. So yes, I tend to stick around him. But I have never thought of being in a relationship with him, not even once! First of all, it's disgusting, and secondly, he'd make me go completely bonkers! Now tell me frog, how would I ever be able to date him? I changed his diapers, as a manner of speech!"

France had no answer. Now that he thought back on it, why did he think England was in love with America again? His behaviour had indeed been that of an overprotective ex-guardian. What had changed France's perception?

But he already knew what it was. It was a little green demon called jealousy. The Frenchman had just been envious of all the attention America received, and his love-struck mind had instinctively labelled him a love rival.

England didn't love America. It sounded almost too good to be true.

"And what about your hostility towards monsieur Russie?"

"Francis, it's Russia. I hate him because I think he cannot be trusted, not because I am jealous of him."

It all sounded oh so logical. But there was still one question left unexplained.

"Why are you telling me this?" the Frenchman asked, azure eyes darting up.

England's mouth snapped shut, his eyebrows shot up to disappear in his messy blond hair, his green eyes went comically wide, and the most wonderful thing of all: he began blushing.

The sudden explosion of expressions didn't last long; he immediately raised his defences. The nation got back to frowning, and his mouth became a straight line.

However, a faint spark of hope had been ignited in France's chest.

"Now don't get me wrong frog. I never said I _love_ you." Yet his face had gotten redder than a tomato by now.

The spark grew in both size and intensity, slowly becoming something bigger.

"It's just that-" warmer "-we've known each other for a really long time now-" so bright "-and I _do_ care about you – just not in that way! But-" oh so nice and hot now, almost a bonfire "-I thought we could-"

England's ranting was cut off by a passionate, needy and desperate kiss. Oh, how France had waited for this moment.

The Englishman froze at first.

' _I'm not ready!_ ' his mind yelled.

But all his body could think was how right it felt kissing France, how it wanted more, and that it wanted more _now_.

Maybe England had simply been overthinking things. Maybe being in a relationship with France wasn't so bad after all. He could at least give it a try. If the nervous fluttering of his heart and the rising temperature of his body were anything to judge by, it would be well worth the try.

After that little inner debate (which lasted about three seconds), he closed his eyes and started kissing back.

France's heart sung the entire musical of _The Sound of Music_ when he felt two arms snake their way around his waist, pulling him closer. He gripped the blond's golden locks, desperately wanting to feel more of him.

When he pushed a knee in between England's legs and started grinding against his crotch, the other nation flinched and pulled away.

"Now wait just a minute!"

France looked at him, one eyebrow cocked. "Are you certain you want to wait?"

He slowly moved his leg up, causing more friction. England stifled a whimper and pushed him off.

"Now listen here frog, I didn't come here for sex! Heck, I wasn't even planning on kissing you!"

France reeled him in again, and moved his face to the Brit's ear.

"Then what were you planning?" he breathed in a husky voice, hand crawling under the nation's shirt.

"I just wanted to talk!" the other hissed, but it turned into a shaky breath when France licked his ear and started nibbling on his earlobe.

"Then talk," he whispered, tongue briefly dipping into his ear.

England growled. He pushed the Frenchman off once more. France tried not to pout, he was too turned-on to hold back now. His body had waited too long for this.

But there was no need to pout.

"If we are going to do this, we're gonna do it my way!" the Brit said, taking over America's way of speaking in the heat of the moment.

"Your way?" France questioned.

England simply grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him towards the bedroom.

"Hey, wait! Chérie, are you certain?"

England looked at him, smirking, eyes filled with an emotion the Frenchman was more than familiar with.

"They don't call me the erotic ambassador for no good reason at all."

If France had a tail, it would be wagging happily as he followed England to his own room. Once the French nation closed the door behind him and turned around, he found himself being pinned to the wood. He had no time to comment on the Brit's eagerness and laugh his perverted little laugh, for his lips were instantly covered by a hungry mouth.

France closed his eyes and gave in to the sensations. England wasted no time and practically shoved his tongue into the nation's mouth, making him shudder and moan. One hand was balled into a fist against the surface of the door, while the other had wrapped itself around France's waist, pulling him closer. The Frenchman's hands were either gripping the Brit's hair or stroking his back.

England's tongue traced the rim of France's upper teeth and then travelled deeper into his mouth, finding a nice sensitive spot and practically abusing it. The other couldn't help but moaning into the kiss, wanting more of the Englishman. It wasn't often that France got a taste of a dominant England, but he had to agree it was a nice change once in a while.

They eventually had to break away for air. Both faces flushed, and lips still connected by a string of saliva. Once the Brit had caught his breath, he bent over and started sucking on France's neck. France tilted his head back, exposing more skin and giving the other better access. His hands travelled down until they slipped into the other's pants, cupping his firm ass. England grunted a bit but didn't stop his current activity, trying to create a nice-looking hickey.

The Frenchman smirked naughtily as he softly pulled the Brit closer. He then started rubbing their crotches together, making the other take notice of his arousal. England growled and bit down, making France gasp in both pain and pleasure.

"Impatient aren't we?"

The Brit yanked himself free and dragged France towards the bed.

"I can say the same about you, mon trésor."

With a light push to the chest, the Frenchman toppled over onto the bed. England mounted him, eyes shining victoriously as a sly and cocky grin worked its way onto his face.

"You know, you still owe me one from last time."

Cold sweat broke out.

"Angleterre, you are not still mad about that, are you?" he asked nervously. He would spontaneously combust if England were to leave him hanging here.

"I won't be any more once I've heard you begging and screaming my name."

France started grinning as well. Now that was a punishment he had no rejections against.

England started pulling on his shirt, all but tearing it off, before going back to his neck. He worked his way up, sucking, licking and teeth grazing against the overheated skin.

France, even though loving the attention, decided to tease the Brit. England didn't take notice of the Frenchman's intentions until he suddenly felt a hand kneading his erection, hidden behind tight jeans. In his surprise, he bit down a bit harder than he had intended, leaving a clear bite mark for the world to see.

"What do you think you're doing you bloody wanker?" he hissed, although his mind kept trailing back to the feeling of a hand on his crotch.

"Let's get you off first before we start with me~"

"Why you-"

England gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. France's skilful fingers were rapidly driving him to new heights, working at a steady pace and making him want to get out of those forsaken clothes. He lowered his forehead onto the Frenchman's shoulder and dug his nails into the mattress.

"H-hah…" he panted, revelling in the sensations. He rolled his hips against the hand, dying for more friction.

The French nation complied to his mute request. He started moving faster, gripping tighter, almost making the other go insane with ecstasy. It wasn't before too long that England noticed how close he was getting.

"Fra-ah… I-I th-think I-hah-I'm going to-hah…" he managed to wheeze, trembling all over his body.

"Then come," was France's murmured reply.

And so he did. England arched his back and clawed at the mattress, teeth clenched to hold back his voice, pushing himself against the hand, only focussed on the wonderful pleasure that came pooling from that single source. Once he came back down from his personal cloud in heaven, the Brit fell onto France's chest, panting heavily.

"I am glad you enjoyed that, mon cher."

England had to give himself a moment to catch his breath before he could answer.

"You bastard, you made me defile my trousers."

France smirked. "You did not seem to mind that much."

Once he was fully recovered, England sat up on top of France's belly.

"All right then, since you are so impatient tonight, let me take care of you. But frog-" His eyes flickered playfully. "-this time you won't interrupt me. Are we clear?"

France nodded eagerly, not even caring who would be doing who. He was just so horny, he needed the Brit _right now_.

England pulled France up and helped him remove the rest of his clothes. Afterwards he told the Frenchman to bend over on his hands and knees, ass facing the Englishman. France did not really like this position – he'd rather look his partner in the face while making love – , but he knew better than to complain.

England bent over as well and nuzzled in the back of his neck. Without any warning, he gripped the nation's cock in his hand and started to move along the length. France yelped at the sudden touch but quickly began moaning.

"You are quite direct toni- Ooh~"

The Frenchman swallowed audibly as he felt England tease him just right.

"You like that bitch?" the Englishman chuckled, repeating the action to feel France arc his back against his body.

What was it with the Brit and swearing whenever they had sex? France honestly had no idea, but his mind was a bit too preoccupied to really care.

"You don't happen to have any lubricant do you?"

"Night stand, second drawer."

England wasn't even going to ask him why he kept it there, knowing the Frenchman's habits all too well.

France whined at the feeling of loss when the Brit let go of him. His entire body was on fire, yearning for the other to touch him. The Englishman found the lube and moved back to the end of the bed.

"Cherry flavour?" he questioned.

"Oui. Please do not ask."

England snorted as he opened the bottle and moved back to his original position. The Frenchman clenched his teeth as the Brit stuck his finger in, fighting his body's urge to get rid of the intrusion. Luckily, it didn't take long for his muscles to relax.

"Bit tight are we not?" the Englishman commented as he started moving his finger.

"I must confess it has been a while since I was on the bottom," France admitted.

It was almost surreal how they were having a conversation like this while England was preparing him to be taken. France hissed as the other added a second finger, but it turned into a loud gasp once the nation hit a certain bundle of nerves.

England smirked knowingly. "This spot right here?" he purred, almost caressing his prostate.

"Yes, oui, oui! Merde!"

England started thrusting his fingers in and out, each time hitting the spot dead-on. France soon found himself unable to do any more than scream every time a wave of pure pleasure soared through his body. He almost didn't even notice it when the Englishman added a third finger, mind clouded over by wonderful vibes.

France fell on his stomach once England removed his fingers, unable to stop drool from leaking out of his mouth. England quickly rolled the Frenchman onto his back and took off his own clothes. France stared at the nation now towering over him, body like Adonis and green eyes filled with lust, lust for _him_.

"Tu es vraiment beau," he murmured, more than willing to give himself to this heavenly creature.

To hide his blush, the Brit smiled. He leant forward and placed a small kiss on France's lips, before lining himself up.

"Ready?" he asked, suddenly gentle.

"For you my dear, always."

They locked eyes as England slowly pushed in. France kept whispering things like 'étonnant', 'généreux' and 'affable', thinking of every adjective he knew that could describe the one he loved, while the other kept moving in. England had no idea how to respond to the compliments so he bashfully kept his mouth shut. France's arms were wrapped around his neck, fingers twitching with every inch he gained on him. As he was about halfway in, the Brit pulled out again and started thrusting at a slow pace, making his way in from there on.

Their eyes had been locked the entire time, France's loving and England's doubtful and timid, still unsure whether or not he deserved that love and if he would be able to return it.

Was this love? This not wanting to hurt the other, this desire, this nervousness as the man laid his eyes upon him, this constant fighting just to draw a reaction out of him?

England hit France's sweet spot again and felt the other wrap his legs around him, nails digging into his back. He connected their lips in a sloppy kiss and picked up the speed. Soon the Frenchman was almost screaming again, squirming underneath him, begging for more.

England let his nails graze over France's body, leaving behind trails of electric heat. All of France's senses were now focussed on getting as much pleasure as possible out of the touches. It was too much for him to handle.

"Ah-Arthur!" he spat, closing his eyes and finally finding release.

As the Brit felt him tense around him, he too was sent over the top. After riding out his orgasm, England pulled out and collapsed on his back.

They both panted for a bit, air still buzzing hotly, as if talking about what they'd just done.

"That was quite amazing," the Frenchman admitted.

"Told you I'd make you beg and scream," England smugly replied, although a little out of breath.

France put an arm around England's shoulders and pulled him close, letting the nation rest his head on his chest.

They remained silent for a little while, enjoying the aftermath of their little rendezvous.

"Je t'aime," France sighed happily, stroking the other's hair.

England thought about what to say.

"Why me?" he asked. "You're the country of love, you could've chosen anyone. And for all these years, I was certain we hated each other's guts."

France chuckled a little at that last part.

"Arthur," he said, name sounding foreign in his native tongue.

"How could it be anyone but you? Even though we do argue all the time, you were always there for me when I needed you. We have known each other for so many centuries, and I have come to realize that life simply wouldn't be the same without you. I love you, all of you. The look in your eyes when you get an idea, the way you take great pride in your culture and people, that funny little noise you make when you sneeze, how you love rock 'n' roll even though you would never tell the younger nations. I love your sarcasm, every single one of your facial expressions, your lovely profanities, the way your hair stands up when you have just woken up, how you furrow your eyebrows, I even love the rain that seems to follow you everywhere."

He had to take a breather after summing that all up.

England remained silent throughout his little speech, timidly curling his fingers around France's chest hair. The Frenchman placed a kiss on top of his head.

"I love every single thing about you. All I ask is for you to let me."

England swallowed, cheeks turning a rosy colour.

"I-I…" He hesitated, contemplating what best to say.

"I… I _might_ love you too," he whispered.

France grinned happily and hugged him tight. "That is all I ask for now. And who knows? Maybe together we can change that into 'I love you more than anything, please make me your wife'?"

England snorted and hit him on the chest. "And why would I be the wife?"

"You are shorter, and a lot of your rulers have been women."

"And who was the one topping just a few minutes ago?"

The atmosphere became playful again, giving the confessions a rest for now.

"Oh, so that is how you determine that? Then would you care for another round, this time with me on top to prove you wrong?"

England cursed as the Frenchman pushed him on his back, but he wasn't angry. They grinned childishly at each other, feeling like two drunk teenagers caught by puppy love.

"If you hurt me you die."

"I wouldn't dream of that mon cher," France replied, before lowering himself for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though England's still a bit unsure, I think it's clear things will work out between the two of them. :)
> 
> Words:  
> Un sentiment d'affection et d'attachement : A sentiment of affection and attachment  
> Monsieur Russie: Mister Russia  
> Chérie: Dear/darling  
> Mon trésor: My treasure  
> Mon cher: My dear  
> Tu es vraiment beau: You are truly beautiful  
> Étonnant: Amazing/astonishing  
> Généreux: Generous/unselfish  
> Affable: Kind


	31. The Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and Russia make a bet.

They left Canada's house on a rather uneventful note. Well, if you forget the fact that Prussia almost brought up the pink dress-incident and that Russia then attempted to give the ex-nation a real Texas burial.

And if you ignore the fact that America now officially hated his brother.

This because the Canadian had done everything in his might to keep America's attention on the sexy Russian beast in their midst. Constantly winking at him, using sentences with a double meaning, nearly forcing the two of them to sit next to each other when they went to watch a film, …

The American would almost say he was a worse matchmaker than France.

But because of his behaviour, America was all too glad he could finally escape his house. As if he didn't think about Russia enough on his own already.

* * *

Back in Chicago, America suddenly announced they had to come up with enough plans to fill the next five days.

"What for?" the tall nation inquired.

"For not getting bored out of our asses of course!" the other laughed it off. This wasn't the real reason of course, but Russia wasn't supposed to know yet.

So that's why both nations were now parked on America's couch, each looking for things they could do on their laptops.

"Man, we gotta go horseback riding some time! It's been ages since I've last done that! You know how?"

Russia shrugged. "I suppose so."

"All right then, that's definitely going on the list."

The sound of clicks and fingers tapping on keyboards filled the room. Every now and then one of them suggested an activity, which was either accepted or declined.

"Oh, I see a new ice rink has opened!" Russia cheered.

The smaller nation leant over to look at his screen.

"You mean for like hockey 'n' stuff?"

Russia nodded. "Da, but also for ice skating!"

America's mouth twitched up, but he knew not to laugh from previous experiences.

"Dude, seriously? You wanna go ice skating?"

"Da!" Russia nodded cheerfully.

America mulled it over. "Well I guess we could… But then I'm gonna watch from the side line."

Russia leered knowingly at him. "Do you not know how to skate?"

America immediately crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks. "Sure I do! Ain't no rink in which you can possibly fall and break your neck gonna scare me!"

Russia smiled slyly, eyes glowing with mischief. "Oh little one, are you afraid of the big bad ice rink?"

America's eyebrows made a perfect imitation of England's best frown.

"Nuh uh! I can skate plenty!"

"I bet I can do it better~" Russia mumbled, just loud enough for the American to hear.

This of course triggered the younger nation's competitive instincts.

"Oh yeah? Well I'll race you then! The nation who can skate five rounds the fastest gets to make the other do something for them!"

Russia giggled and shook America's outstretched hand. "I think we have ourselves an agreement!"

America was very glad that the one guy living above him had showed him how to skate on several occasions. What was his name again? Oh right, Canadia. Guess he could forgive him for trying to hook him up with the Russian… Maybe.

After a little more brainstorming they came up with a schedule.

Day 1: ice skating challenge of doom (dubbed so by America of course).

Day 2: shopping and watching _the Blues Brothers_ ("Seriously Vanya, how can you not know them?")

Day 3: horseback riding.

Day 4: visit to The Chicago History Museum (Russia's choice) and go watch the musical of Chicago ("Gotta see that one dude!")

Day 5: visit to the Lincoln Park Zoo (again Russia's choice) and play videogames ("I'm the king of video games! Or the prince, Japan holds the title of king."­—"I think I am better than you at Tetris."—"Oh yeah?! Wanna bet?"—"We'll see~")

America was happy with the outcome of their schedule. There hadn't been anything about his little almost-car-accident on the news lately, so he assumed it was safe to go out without a disguise again.

"Well then, let's go!"

* * *

After a quick lunch at McDonald's, the two arrived at the ice rink. America was all pumped up for their little competition, although also a tad nervous. After all, he wasn't such a good skater as he had bragged he was. Sure, he could make his way around the ice without falling flat on his face, but that was about it. No twirling, no jumping, and most definitely no participating in sports like ice hockey. It wasn't because some of his people were pretty good at it that America automatically became good at it as well. He only hoped his strength would be enough to guide him through the race. After all, once the American set his mind to something, he knew he could somehow pull it off. One way or another.

Both nations put on some comfortable clothes which were easy to manoeuvre in.

"What is your shoe size?" Russia asked the younger nation.

"I'll grab it myself, thank you very much."

Russia giggled. Once America got into his competitive mode, there was absolutely no talking to him. It had been quite a while since the Russian had last seen him in this state. He found himself getting playful at the sight.

After putting on their skates, the two of them made their way to the rink. It was a decent size, the ice looked smooth and hardly used (except for a few lines indicating recent visitors), and the walls surrounding them were painted in winter themes.

"Makes ya feel right at home huh big guy?"

Russia cocked an eyebrow at him and made no further comment. He simply stepped onto the ice and skated away from the entrance.

"Are you coming Alfred?" he purred.

America swallowed, puffed out his chest and bravely stepped on top of the ice.

' _Oh my gosh I'm not falling! Praise the Lord and thank you Uncle Sam for defending my honour!'_

America grinned widely as he strode around on the ice, getting used to the slippery feeling.

Meanwhile, Russia was doing a couple of tricks as a means of warming-up. He crouched down and jumped elegantly in the air, stretching his legs in a way that made America instinctively shudder and cover his groin. No man on earth should be able to stretch his legs that far without the slightest hint of pain. Still, there was no denying his expertise.

"I am ready now da?" Russia said as he halted next to his companion.

America nodded and took a deep breath to calm himself. He could do this. He was Alfred F. Jones, personification of the U S of the freakin' A, and he could do this!

Luckily for his citizens, no one had decided to show up today, allowing the two nations to release their 'superpowers'.

"All right. So we start from here-" America took the time to carve a line in the ice, making Russia tsk at him for ruining a perfectly good rink. "And we take five laps. Guy who gets here fastest wins, it's as simple as that."

Russia playfully nudged him with his elbow. "And do not forget about the punishment, da?"

America scowled at him. "Course not! I'm gonna make you eat that grin Ruski!"

Russia fake-bashfully slapped his hand over his mouth. "Oh my, I do not want to eat something that is a part of my body!"

Oh, he was loving this little game. America seemed to have completely forgotten in what age they were currently living, even going as far as calling the tall nation by one of his old nicknames. Perhaps it would be good to spice up both of their memories. Who knows, maybe getting in this zone could make him stop from wanting to kiss that smug smirk right off of the younger nation's face.

And it wasn't just the Cold War he was referring to. It was also the time before that, when they were actually on quite friendly terms with each other. Not friends, but just… Allies.

Good times. Gooooooooooooood tiiiiimeeeeeeeeeeeeeees~

Both nations got into position. America's hands were sweaty.

"We start on three! One…"

America swallowed and focussed on the track in front of him. The only thing he had to worry about now was taking turns.

"Two…"

Electric blue clashed with scorching amethyst for the briefest of moments.

"Three!"

America took off like a pebble being catapulted away by a sling. A shot of adrenaline cleared his mind and made his muscles harden. The feeling of pure power coursing through his body sent a smile to his face. It felt good letting himself go like this once in a while. And yes, Russia was good, but when it came to strength, he was better!

America used his right foot effectively as a break to round the first corner. So far so good. The adrenaline was pushing him onwards, faster, better, victorious.

After his first undisturbed lap, America decided to glance over his shoulder to check up on what the Russian was doing. The sight he was provided with almost made him trip. Russia looked like he was leisurely taking a stroll, hands folded behind his back whilst whistling a merry tune.

After the next corner, America put his hands around his mouth to yell at the other.

"Hey big guy! This is a race, not the kiddies parade!"

Russia sent him a small smile. "Watch the ice Amerika."

The younger nation quickly looked back in front of him and only just avoided the line he had made in the ice. Two laps down, and he had no idea what the other was doing.

"Seriously dude, you wanna eat my dust this badly?"

"You look after yourself, I will look after myself."

America shrugged. "Whatever Ivan. Guess that means I'm winning this thing!"

The next two laps went by rather uneventful, America never taking his eyes off the ice. He could barely make out any sounds with the blood thumping in his ears, caused by his little rush of adrenaline.

' _I'm actually gonna win this!_ ' he thought as he was halfway through his final lap.

And then it happened.

"Yoo hoo!" a sing-song voice called from an uncomfortably close distance.

America looked to his side and almost tripped over his own feet.

Russia was skating right next to him. Backwards.

…Show-off.

"What the- How the _Hell_ did you get here?!" he squeaked, face reading nothing but shock.

Russia chuckled gleefully. "Need I remind you Alfred, that even though you have muscles-" He gestured at America's biceps. "-that I will always have the experience?"

America cursed as the Russian turned on his toes and sped off towards the finish. It wasn't anywhere near a photo-finish. That bastard had just been playing with him the entire time, allowing the American to believe this would be an easy win. The American should've known better, Russia was never to be trusted in these kind of things.

America sulkily shoved his hands in his pockets and opened his mouth to start yelling some more.

But he forgot to jump over the crack in the ice.

America's foot caught and he began falling in a very dramatic way. Read: he was screaming like a little girl and flailing his arms around, not happy at all about falling flat on his face and possibly breaking his nose after that humiliating loss.

Luckily for him, Russia happened to stand very nearby. And a good thing too that his reflexes were razor-sharp.

Before the younger nation could finish his sentence of "What the F-", two strong arms had safely caught him under his armpits. Russia pulled him up, hugging the other close to his chest.

"Are you all right Fredka?" he asked, light concern in his voice.

America looked up. Which was a mistake.

Their face were oh so close together, noses mere inches separated. Russia's violet eyes were big and round and shocked and childish and _beautiful_. And oh so tantalizingly close.

For a moment it looked like the tall nation was going to kiss him again.

And then the moment was over.

Both nations pulled away at exactly the same time. America awkwardly patted the older nation on the shoulder.

"Th-thanks for catching me there big guy. I owe you one."

"D-da… Pazhalusta."

America sighed in relief, but also disappointment. Sure, staying in the friend-zone was easier when you didn't kiss, but he still liked to take every chance he could get. Apparently the other wasn't in a kissing mood today.

Russia on the other hand was proud at himself for being able to hold back.

"I will think about your punishment later," he said, smiling creepily once more now that they were out of the danger-zone.

America's expression turned sour.

He watched Russia turn and leave the rink, only now noticing how nice his butt looked in those tights.

' _Nope, hating his guts doesn't help me getting over my feelings at all_ ,' he pondered.

America sighed a final time, shrugged, and left for the dressing room as well, trying not to think about the challenges ahead.

* * *

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"I'm not doing that."

"But you have to~"

"No, you can't force me. Think of something else."

"But-but… Pretty please with… with cupcakes and sparkles on top?"

"…Dude, have you been watching girly cartoons or something?"

"No, I heard you say it."

"…Oh, I guess I did… I'm still not doing it."

Puppy eyes turned into jewels of hell as the tall nation pushed the other against the wall.

"Fedya~" he purred, voice low and dangerous. "Need I remind you that you lost the bet, and that we have an agreement?"

America whined as he unsuccessfully tried to escape.

"Come on Ivan, I don't want tooooooooooooo!"

Suddenly a pipe was slammed against the wall right next to his head. Russia had his eyes closed and was smiling.

America gulped. He knew that smile. It was the if-I-don't-get-what-I-want-I'll-go-and-pulverize-your-skull kinda smile. America had no other choice but to surrender.

So that was why he was now going around the mall, advertising for a new beach bar (no idea why they called it a beach bar) on the roof. Wearing only a straw skirt and a flower necklace. And a fruit hat. You know, the one with the pineapple and other tropical fruits and stuff. Oh yeah, and he also got to wear pink flip-flops.

"Go to the roof, Beach Bar's the next cool place to be!" he said in a I-want-to-kill-myself voice while handing out pamphlets to a group of teenagers.

"Nice skirt bra!" one of them snickered.

"Nice bottle of gin in your pants. You sure you didn't steal that?" was his reply.

The group left him alone after that.

"Alfred, you have to smile more!" came Russia's hushed voice from behind a misplaced palm tree.

America sighed and put on his hero smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

A guy tried to hit on him. America thought it was his persistence in telling the kid off that finally drove him away. He never noticed the purple waves of doom behind him, labelling America as 'not available'.

It was a long afternoon.

* * *

"Seriously dude, first the dress and now this?" America asked grumpily. He was lying on his couch, box of pizza on the coffee table next to him. Russia was sitting in the kitchen doing more paper work, that boring ass.

"Do you like watching me cross-dress or something?" he continued, before taking a big bite out of his pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. And yes, he was eating the entire thing all by himself.

If America's eyes hadn't been glued to the television screen, he would have noticed the blush on Russia's face.

"Nyet. It is just funny to watch your reactions."

America tsk-ed and took another bite. "Wh'tva dood, t'mmr-"

"Alfred, I cannot understand you."

The sound of swallowing, choking, and a bit of very loud coughing could be heard.

"I was saying that it doesn't matter, because tomorrow we'll do what I wanna do."

His blue eyes looked over the back of the couch triumphantly.

Russia looked up at exactly the same moment. "Do you mean you did not enjoy today?"

It took a moment for the younger nation to react, captivated by those eyes, the way his hair fell in front of his face, and that tiny smile he had grown so used to.

"S-sure I did," he mumbled, quickly turning to the TV again to prevent himself from jumping that nice-looking Russian treat.

Russia chuckled. "I am glad."

They remained silent for a while, each indulging themselves in their own activities.

America was just about to find out who the killer was in a murder mystery, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and froze.

Why was his face this close? What was it with Russia and invading other's personal space?

"I am going to bed Fedya. Spokojnoj noči."

"Yeah…" America breathed.

His face was getting closer. WHY WAS IT GETTING CLOSER?!

Russia gave him a small peck on the forehead. America blinked sheepishly. The Russian smiled widely with his eyes closed, and after that he left.

The blond was still lying on the couch, clutching his shirt in one hand and almost crushing the remote with the other. His heart was beating hard enough to sound like a mini-stampede in his chest, and he was breathing heavily.

"F-fuck!" he cursed.

The nation let himself fall on his back, trying to get his heart to calm down.

"Ivan fucking Braginski, I swear you'll be the end of me!" he whined, wanting so badly to just run up the stairs, tackle the other to the ground, and make out with him until they both fainted from lack of air.

America looked at the screen again.

"AND WAYNE'S THE FREAKIN' KILLER?! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Pazhalusta: You're welcome


	32. Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a stop at a the mall, Russia thinks about their shared past.

Russia thought America was acting suspicious.

They were in the mall, doing grocery shopping among others. America had left Russia at a comic book store, telling him he still needed to pick up some things. When the tall nation had asked the other what exactly those things were, the smaller nation had very noticeably avoided the question.

' _What is Fedya buying that is worth hiding?_ ' he thought, watching America's retreating form.

Before he could think about pursuing the other, he was distracted by a little kitty doll that kept swaying its head.

After about fifteen minutes of being hypnotized by said doll, Russia noticed a girl was staring at the thing as well. He suddenly found himself a lot more interested in the showcase with horror figurines.

Russia wandered deeper into the store, wondering when his companion would be coming back. That is until something very bright and yellow caught his eye. It was a booklet over at the manga section. Russia picked up the book and studied it warily, never having read manga before. On the front cover were two boys that looked like strange cat mutants. The title was flashy and pink, but the nation couldn't read the kanji.

Ignoring the giggling he heard behind him, he opened the volume.

Russia didn't understand the story at all, not having picked up the first of the series, so he decided to just skim through the pages in search of something interesting or funny. He frowned a bit at the unknown words. What was a 'seme' and a 'uke'? Japan really had some queer words. Russia sighed and opened a page somewhere in the middle, trying to relieve his boredom. What he saw there made him blink, squint his eyes, and then blink again.

The strange cat people were kissing. And not just any kiss, no. They were using their tongues, and considering the expressions on their faces, they liked it a lot.

Oh. It was one of _those_ stories.

Russia blushed and opened another page. What he saw there almost made his eyes fall out of their sockets. The cat people were no longer kissing. Oh no, they had taken it to an entire new level.

Russia wanted to put the book down and run away as fast as possible, but something kept him rooted to the spot, preventing his eyes from looking away. Maybe it was his naive curiosity, maybe his pride didn't want him to look like a coward, perhaps because it was actually quite well-drawn, or maybe it was the fact that he could almost picture him and America doing the same. This last thought of course made his face grow an even darker shade of red.

Russia would be lying if he were to say he had never thought of having sex with America before, especially the past few days. He just… didn't really know how.

Well, of course he wasn't a virgin anymore, but he hadn't exactly done it with a man before. He could imagine what it would be like, but it either left him with questions or made him far too embarrassed to continue that train of thought. France had tried giving him 'The Talk' back when Catherine the Great was still alive, but Russia had threatened to throw him off a cliff to hide his unease with the topic (1).

So that made the manga… interesting, for him.

"Hey big guy! What're ya reading?"

Russia almost dropped the book in shock. He spun on his heels, successfully hiding the manga behind his large figure.

"Ah, Alfred! How good to see you!" he said in a sing-song voice. Good thing Russia was an expert at hiding his emotions.

America raised an eyebrow. "You all right there bud? You look kinda sweaty."

Russia's smile grew larger. "Of course!" His hands were busy trying to put the manga back. "So, how did the shopping go?"

America quickly swung the bag behind him, making sure Russia didn't get to look at the contents.

"Shopping went well! So, you ready to go now?"

"Da!"

Russia was relieved he had been able to put the book back, and that America didn't ask any more questions. He glanced back at the shelf, trailing behind his companion.

The violet-eyed nation decided right there and then to swallow his bashfulness and do some research later.

* * *

Russia was a bit puzzled.

America had insisted on the both of them dressing up in black suits, complete with hat, tie and sunglasses. Russia decided not to question it though, knowing the American always had his strange little quirks. He did however gape at his friend once he came down the stairs.

With one hand casually placed in his pocket, the clothes hugging his body in all the right ways, that million watt-smile and the suggestive leer over the top of his sunglasses were in a word, alluring.

"You look very handsome," the tall nation blurted out. He mentally slapped himself for making the comment. Friends didn't call each other handsome! …Did they?

America blushed slightly and his smile faltered. "Y-yeah, you too I guess."

Which wasn't a lie in the slightest. He had said it once and he was more than willing to say it again: Russia looked _very_ good in black.

They both settled on the couch, provided with beer and food from Kentucky Fried Chicken's.

"I have one question Alfred."

"Hm?"

"Why are we wearing sunglasses inside the house?"

" _Because_ dude! It's part of the outfit!"

"It does make it harder to see."

"…Fine, we'll take 'em off during the movie."

They watched the film, America commenting on his favourite parts and humming along with the songs.

Russia only paid half attention to the screen. The room was dark, and his arm was draped over the back of the couch. How would America react if he were to put said arm around his shoulders? The Russian figured it was a thing typical for couples, but he could always excuse himself by saying he didn't know that. America thought he knew nothing about social relations either way. Plus, he had allowed him to kiss him on the lips, and he'd even wanted to lie close to him when they had to share a bed in Canada. Surely this gesture wasn't all that different?

Russia faked a yawn and slowly stretched his arm-

"Don't even think about it."

Russia started and looked at the other. America's eyes were still trained on the television screen, but his tense shoulders told the other to back off.

The Russian retracted his arm and pouted. Why was this action no good, but a kiss was?

"You know that's a couples' thing right?"

"Prosti…"

They didn't talk for the remainder of the movie. America felt a bit uncomfortable with the silence, but it was better that way. He had to teach Russia that there were certain boundaries he couldn't cross (the cuddling thing at Canada's had been out of obligation!). For the sake of Russia's people skills, but also for himself. Because he didn't know how much longer he would be able to contain himself if the taller nation kept pulling stunts like that.

By the time the film was done, Russia was still sulking. America groaned in frustration and abruptly pulled the other into a hug.

"Look big guy, it's not that I hate you touching me or something, but there are certain things friends just don't do, 'kay?"

His hands were drawing soothing circles on the nation's back. Russia nodded, but kept his arms to himself, afraid to cross another line.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not mad or anything, I just want you to understand."

Russia nodded again, but sat back up when he realized how much he was behaving like a child. He sent America a reassuring smile, which the younger nation happily returned.

"…So, wanna put our sunglasses back on?"

* * *

The wind in his hair. The sun casting its spell upon the vast lands of the Wild West. The smell of freshly mowed grass, cows and horse droppings caressing the olfactory organ. The sound of laboured breathing, accompanied by hooves colliding with the earth beneath them. Brute strength driving them onwards, blurring all surroundings. All but that one goal, straight ahead.

Blue eyes narrowed in the utmost concentration, an excited grin hidden behind a red shawl. Two hearts beating in sync, each knowing what to do, guided by a primal instinct. Closing the distance, muscles tensing in anticipation.

A black stallion bent its legs before majestically leaping into the sky, successfully jumping the hurdle. Its rider standing bare-foot on its back, one hand clutching the reins, the other holding a light brown cowboy hat up high, a victorious jubilation escaping his lips.

Once they hit the ground again, the sound of applause hit the nation's ears. America turned his horse around and made a bow.

"Very good!" the Russian chuckled.

"Aren't you coming?" America called out to him.

Russia laughed and shook his head. He was seated at a table, enjoying a drink and occasionally reading a page in his book, whilst his American friend was taking each and every horse for a ride around the outdoor arena. America was truly having fun, reliving the days he always used horses as a means of transportation. Russia loved watching him. That glint in his eyes, knowing he was in control, how the animal put its full trust in the nation, how his eyes shot to _him_ after every round, asking for praise and compliments. And Russia gave them, not seeing a reason to deny him that when he deserved it.

It reminded him of the time they first met, way back. America was just a boy then in Russia's eyes, in fact not all that different from now. Yet somehow he had managed to win independence. Of course, England having an emotional breakdown did help him a great deal, but it was a fact that the Englishman back then was a force to be reckoned with. A force the youngster had met head-on, not backing away even when the going got tough, but baring his teeth at anyone who stood in his way. Even then it was clear to all that the future held a lot in store for that boy.

Russia respected him. Why else would he have come to his aide during the Civil War? He'd never shown it, always mocking the other, questioning his every action, teasing him, and sometimes getting into fights. But the respect never faltered. Not even during the Cold War. In fact, Russia often found himself strangely enjoying all that competition, the backstabbing, the endless discussions about trivial matters, the kicking under the table, the not-so-hidden sneers, and the attention he was given in general. He wouldn't have wanted any other opponent than that defiant boy who kept intriguing him, catching him by surprise, meeting all his challenges, and was oh so responsive to his sarcastic remarks. Yes, he was a fool, an obnoxiously stubborn idiot, but delightfully appealing and engaging all the same.

But then it had all escalated. And Russia was left behind as merely a husk, a yin without his yang, watching everyone escape from the home he had tried to build, leaving him empty-handed and at the abyss of depression.

Russia could still vividly recall those few months after all of his new-found family had gone away. How many times had he tried to drown himself in the alcohol, even going as far as multiplying his regular intake by ten, but to no avail. He could never get drunk enough to ease the pain, the loneliness, the disappointment.

His sister came back, but only to harass him. General Winter's visits those years left him extra ravished, temporarily more vulnerable due to his immune system having been weakened. On the outside he kept smiling, locking away his true feelings, only letting them out once safely at home. Every single day again.

But then a light came to his frozen shelter. Russia made a plan to cure himself, to be able to once again bask in the company of others. A little light called Alfred Foster Jones came out of the darkness.

Not America. Just Alfred. This had nothing to do with politics after all.

Russia smiled as that angelic face once again turned to him. Those energetic eyes gleeful and full of life, his laughter chasing away the shadows of the past.

Their eyes held each other a little longer than needed, in a moment of understanding. What they understood was not exactly clear. Appreciation, happiness, perhaps a kinship of some sorts. They both looked up at the sky simultaneously, feeling completely at peace. Russia was beyond grateful of the youngster, that little wild thing that just couldn't be tamed.

If only they knew how similar their thoughts were at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) During the time of Peter the Great and Catherine the Great, Russia was quite interested in France. This because Peter wanted to 'modernise' the country, and was greatly influenced by Western-Europe for this. So Russia and France met, and since Russia was a bit of a socially awkward dork back then, he was fascinated by the meeting with this flamboyant and almost exotic country.  
> …And then France kinda ruined it by trying to introduce sex to the Russian. Yeah, that was sort of a bummer for innocent little Vanya.


	33. Milking cows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia talks about his little sister, and America wants to milk cows.

The scent of sautéed onions, mushrooms and beef filled America's kitchen. Freshly baked bread was sitting on the counter, waiting for the Beef Stroganoff to finish cooking. Skilled hands added some more salt, and after a quick taste, a little bit of mustard as well. Knowing that no one was looking, half a bottle of vodka was brought into the mix. Ah, vodka. It made everything better.

America was collapsed on the ground next to his couch. After visiting the museum and watching the musical, he had eaten a year's worth of cheap chocolate from the supermarket. The sugar-induced adrenaline rush that followed almost made Russia wish he was back in Moscow again. As soon as they had gotten home and the energy boost had dried out, America was hit by a sudden exhaustion. That was why his face was now planted to the floor, the movements of his eyelids indicating a lively dream.

Knowing the young nation's appetite, Russia had taken the liberty of preparing dinner. After all that junk food and quick snacks he desperately wanted something with healthy substance.

"Alfred, dinner is served~"

America scrunched his nose in his sleep, but didn't wake up.

Russia walked over to him and looked down upon his host. He resisted the urge to kiss the nation awake, and instead opened a can of coke and held it in front of his face. The fizziness of the drink tickled his nostrils, and finally made the young nation jolt awake. America snorted and looked around bewilderedly.

"Hey-what-where-who-"

Russia giggled. "It is time to eat little one. You were sleeping."

America rubbed his nose and sneezed. The Russian had to repel a squeal that threatened to make itself known. America really did sneeze in the most adorable way.

They settled for dinner, the blue-eyed nation complementing the other on his cooking.

"Spasiba!" Russia said gleefully, shyly yet proudly looking down at his hands.

To pass the time they played another little game of Q&A, this time about more than hobbies and favourite books.

"Best place you've been to?" America began.

"Hmm… Somewhere south and sunny. I liked it when we all stranded on that island."

"Yeah, despite the fact we got stuck there huh? And by that island, don't you mean Seychelles?"

"That one too, but there was another island… You know, where the Axis had stranded as well."

Neither could remember how it was called, so they moved on to America's answer.

"If I have to choose a place that isn't in the States, I guess I liked going to Japan a lot."

America didn't see the way Russia's eyes darkened.

"Oh? And why is that Alfred?"

"They just got a lot of cool buildings and food ya know. It's fascinating."

Satisfied with an answer that didn't involve him having to go pound Japan's face into dust, Russia asked a question of his own.

"Have you ever smoked weed?"

"You mean during the age of Flower Power and stuff? I guess a little. Remember that one time our bosses had a meeting in Washington D.C. and I introduced you to Tony?"

The Russian nodded.

"Yeah, long story short: I was high."

America took a bite of his bread while Russia giggled uncontrollably.

"So that is why you kept asking me if I had a bear on my head!"

"Yeah. That, and you gotta admit that hat does look very much like a miniature grizzly."

"Of course it does," Russia chuckled, having to catch his breath.

"My question to you: ever played Russian Roulette?"

Russia shot him a look as if to say "duh, I invented that game".

"Okay, lame question. I'll ask something else. Most risky thing you ever did?"

"Does jumping out of a plane count?"

America shot him a sarcastic glare. "Yeah, no. I've heard that story many times, and I do not believe you jumped out of a plane without a parachute and didn't get injured more than break a few ribs."

"But I did! You can ask China, he was there with me!"

America made a dismissive gesture, ignoring the other's pout.

"Fine," Russia huffed. "Riskiest thing you have ever done in a relationship?"

America's ears turned red. "Where did that come from?!"

"Answer the question. That is the rule, da?" Russia replied, smugly folding his arms in front of his chest. He didn't even know why he asked that, it was just the first thing that came to mind. And he _was_ curious.

America twiddled his thumbs, eyes darting around the room.

"I guess… There was this one time with Vietnam… You know, long after the war of course."

The Russian perked his ears. Perhaps he should pay Vietnam a 'friendly' visit somewhere in the near future.

"It was just a short fling, but the thing was… We were kinda at China's house, and we were kinda occupying the bathroom, and maybe the other Asians were invited as well. So we were sort of in constant danger of being caught, but that just added to the thrill you know? And we had kinda gotten rid of our clothes, so afterwards we had to walk naked through the house in search of new ones. And later I heard China's boss was there as well, so it could've been really bad if we'd been caught by him."

Russia's eyebrow twitched. His hands were supporting his chin, nails digging into the flesh.

"I see."

America suddenly noticed the murderous look on his face. He had no idea where that came from, but he wasn't willing to deal with an angry Russia.

"But that was a long time ago!" he quickly said. "It was a one-time thing, now we only talk to each other when it involves politics."

Russia visibly relaxed, smile returning immediately.

"Next question!" America announced. "What is wrong with your sister? And I mean the psychopath one, not the nice chick."

Russia tensed once more, eyes growing wide with shock.

"N-Natalia? She is not here right?!"

He suddenly jumped out of his chair and looked around the room, as if expecting Belarus to magically appear there.

"Whoa, calm down big guy! It's fine, she's not in America!"

Wow, that sounded a lot more wrong than it should have.

Russia was able to compose himself and sat back in his chair.

"What is it you want to know about my sister?" he asked reluctantly, playing with his scarf.

"Well for one, why the hell does she want to marry you?"

Russia sighed.

"I do not know. Natalia… When we were children, she was a nice girl. Yes, she clung to me all the time, but it was more, I guess you could say, normal. She was just a little girl that looked up to her big brother, like a lot of girls her age did. She always said that when we grew up she wanted to marry me, but we did not take her serious. A lot of children make such promises to their siblings or parents, because they do not know what marriage really is."

His smile faltered.

"But then, as we grew up… I do not know what happened for her to change from an innocent child into a woman with such strange ideas. Instead of falling in love with it does not matter who, she kept claiming she was going to marry me. Only this time, I started to realize she was actually serious. I told her it was not going to happen."

He grimaced. "I should not have done that."

America was dead-silent, intrigued by the history of Belarus' madness.

"She suddenly exploded. I have never seen her so- so… furious. She kept throwing things at me, telling me that no one but her was good enough for me. Bela told me she was going to prove to me that she was worthy of my love, and then she stormed out of the house. Ever since then…"

Russia shrugged. "Well, you have seen how she behaves now. Natalia still believes that if she can prove her worth to me, that we will finally marry. She threatens everyone who tries to come near me, she stalks me, she breaks into my house…"

Another sigh.

"What happened to that innocent little child? I know that deep down she is still the same girl, but it is very well hidden. I do love her, just not in the way she wants me to."

You could hear the droplets falling from the tap into the sink, the room filled with a mortifying silence.

America reached out and placed a hand on top of Russia's shoulder. His violet orbs looked up, pain and concern written on the surface. America smiled, hoping that would be enough. He had no words to comfort the older nation. It wasn't like he had any experience with lunatic siblings.

The Russian put on a happier expression.

"Do not worry about me little pumpkin. I can handle it."

America tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

"Little pumpkin?"

Russia snickered. "Da, I saw it on one of your capitalist shows that soil the minds of children with bland catch-phrases and empty promises."

America snorted playfully. "Excuse me? Do I have to remind you that you guys stole from our Winnie the Pooh?"

Russia's smile widened. "Oh, but Vinni Pukh(1) is very amusing! Other than the original that is."

Naturally after dinner, they watched both shows to prove to each other which was better, the heavy conversation already in the past.

* * *

"And your people really do this for entertainment?" Russia asked doubtfully.

"Yup."

They were at the zoo, and America was milking a cow.

"But Alfred," the tall nation whispered. "Did you not do this every day when you were younger?"

"That's completely beside the point!" America shrugged it off.

Russia decided to let it slip. He looked at all the people who were busy milking cows, wondering how they had ended up here. The zoo had seal training, bird viewing, all kinds of reptiles and amphibians to visit…

But no. America wanted to milk cows.

The tall nation noted a young girl staring at him. Her whitish blond hair sprouted from two pigtails on top of her head, and her eyes were big and cerulean blue.

He curiously tilted his head. The girl followed his lead.

"Why are you staring at me?" the nation inquired.

"Why are you not milking the cows?" the girl asked in turn.

Russia shrugged.

"I have milked plenty of animals in my life. I did not come here for that. Why are you not doing the milking?"

The girl shrugged. "It was my brother's idea, not mine. I don't even like cows."

Russia chuckled. "Why not little one?"

The girl stroked her chin, as if deep in thought. "They have wet tongues."

The Russian let out a barking laugh, startling the child.

"You are absolutely right little one. They do have wet tongues."

The girl grinned. She was missing both of her upper incisors.

"I like you! My name's Sara, without the h!"

Russia carefully let her grab his index finger and shook her hand.

"My name is Ivan. But please do not pronounce it as Eyevan, too many people do that already."

"Why do you talk so funny?"

"Because I am from Russian Federation dear child!"

Sara giggled. Then she suddenly got serious.

"Do you have any candy mister Ivan?"

"Nyet. Ah-that means no. Why do you ask little one?"

"My momma says never to trust a stranger who gives you candy."

Russia nodded. "Your mother is very wise. You should listen to her."

Then he bent down, so that he could look the girl in the eyes.

"You have pretty eyes mister Ivan!"

Russia turned a bit pink at the compliment. "Why thank you!"

He took out his bottle of vodka and held it in front of her face.

"Did your mother say anything about vodka?"

Sara shook her head. "What's that?"

Russia's sweet smile widened. "It is Russian water, and the best drink in the whole world. When you grow up, you have to-"

He never finished his sentence, as they were suddenly interrupted by a high-pitched scream.

* * *

Russia was sitting on a bench, not in a very good mood.

It had taken them quite a long time to convince the security personnel at the zoo that the violet-eyed nation was not a rapist or a kidnapper, and no he hadn't given any alcohol to the six year-old, that pipe in his pocket was only for meditational reasons, and no he wasn't here to spread communism and corrupt the innocent minds of children.

The sun was setting on a busy playground, painting the sky a lovely orange.

A mother sat down beside him, wearing a pink dress with flowers. It brought back bad memories.

"Alex, get down from there! Stop pestering Bryony!" she yelled, torturing Russia's eardrums.

The woman then turned to him with a brilliant smile.

"Kids these days huh?"

Russia shrugged, taking another sip of his vodka.

He watched as America jumped from a swing, impressing the children with how high he could get.

"Are you a single parent? My brother Louis is too, he-"

The woman kept chattering on, not even caring if Russia was listening or not. He sent her a disturbed look, wondering how a person could be so annoying. She was even more obnoxious than Prussia, and that was saying a lot.

"So, which one's yours?" she finally ended her speech, looking at him expectantly.

Russia squinted his eyes.

"That one over there," he pointed.

Right then, America was fighting over dibs on the sandbox with a three year-old.

The woman patted him sympathetically on the arm. "Let the boys be boys huh?"

Russia had no idea what she meant by that.

So he took another swig of his vodka and tried to melt into the bench, which was very hard for a guy his stature.

But you can always try, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Vinni Pukh is a Russian adaptation on Winnie the Pooh.


	34. The shower scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The secrets hidden by Russia's scarf are revealed.

Everyone was frozen to the spot, not daring to breathe.

The two nations had spent five nice days together, sniffing up some culture and having fun the American way. Now they were seated at a table at a little bistro, their food already finished. There was just one minor teensy-weensy little problem.

Someone had dropped a bucket filled with red paint on top of Russia's head.

No clue who came up with the idea of repainting the building while the customers were sitting outside, but oh well. Fact was: Russia was now covered in red paint.

Including his very precious scarf.

America would have laughed, were it not for the horrified expression on the Russian's face. He looked like he either wanted to burst into tears, or grab a chainsaw and start a massacre. And knowing Russia, he would most likely choose the latter.

Indeed, not a second later the tall nation's killer grin crept onto his face, that well-known kolkolkolkolkol of his sneaking out of his mouth. America bolted upright and grabbed his friend by the arm.

"Let's go home, 'kay?" he said, voice sounding a tad desperate.

The ashen blond let himself be dragged away, but his ominous chanting didn't cease, and America could feel him tremble with subdued fury.

The young nation didn't want his citizens to be traumatized again, so instead of taking the bus, he lifted the Russian up and gave him a piggyback ride.

"What are you doing?" Russia asked, momentarily distracted from his building rage.

"Carrying you home! Don't worry bud, everything's gonna be all right!"

Russia dug his fingers into America's shoulders, hiding his face in the blond's hair. His body started quivering again, this time with more than just anger.

"Katyusha's scarf is ruined Fedya… What am I to do?" he muttered, apparently falling back to option one now.

"I'll take care of it, I promise. You don't have to worry 'bout a thing!" he reassured the tall nation.

Passers-by gave them odd looks, wondering why it was the teenager carrying the guy that had bear-like proportions, and not the other way around. America didn't care, he was solely focussed on the task of getting his friend home without causing any accidents. Once there, he would have the Russian take a shower, and afterwards bring his scarf and coat away to let them dry cleaned. The professionals were bound to get the stains out, he was absolutely sure of it.

When back at the house, America made a B line for the bathroom. He dropped his guest in the bathtub, providing him with shampoo, shower gel and conditioner.

When Russia made no attempt to undress himself, just sitting there and wailing over the ruined gift of his sister, America made a quick decision. He jumped into the tub as well, and started peeling off the other's clothes.

"Wh-what are you doing?" the tall nation then inquired, voice raising a pitch due to his being alarmed by the younger nation's sudden behaviour.

"Helping you get undressed of course, what does it look like?"

The coat was already thrown to the ground, and America was now pulling at his shirt. Russia grabbed his wrists.

"Stop that!"

"I'll stop if you do it yourself!"

Russia scowled at him, which looked weird because his face was still covered in paint. America wriggled his wrists free and successfully got rid of the shirt. Russia tried to swat his hands away, but America was determined on finishing the task. When he touched his scarf however, the Russian got angry again.

"Do not touch that!" he hissed.

His anger partially melted when the other's face was suddenly really, _really_ close. His heart sped up as he realized he was partially naked, and the younger nation was almost sitting in his lap.

"I'll just take that off for you and then I'll be gone. That way I can take it straight to the dry cleaners, okay big guy? Don't worry, I'll take great care of it."

Russia stammered something incomprehensible, distracted by the new thoughts going through his mind. America carefully unwounded the scarf, slapping at the hands that were weakly trying to stop him.

Once the scarf was fully taken off, America smiled. He was about to say something along the lines of "See, it wasn't that bad!", but then he looked at the other's neck.

The words instantly died on his tongue, and the scarf slid through his fingers.

Russia's neck could best be described as a battlefield of scars.

Small ones, huge ones, ones where you could still see the fading stitches.

But the most noticeable one was a long line covering the entire circumference of his neck, corrugated dents plastering the damaged skin. It almost looked like someone had tried to hang him.

America unconsciously stretched his arm, fingers ghosting over the outlines of the scars. When he slid his thumb over one of the smaller specimens, Russia's body went rigid. His violet eyes went wide with shock as he realized what the younger nation was doing.

"Alfred, stop."

America either didn't hear him or just didn't listen. His eyes were fixed on the exposed neck, fingertips grazing over the scars.

Russia slowly tried to back away, but he didn't have far to go. When he felt his back hit the wall, America just followed, mind completely mesmerized by the broken skin. A shudder went through Russia's body as his nails followed the contours of one of the larger wounds. Russia could almost feel his gaze burn deep into his skin.

"Ah-Alfred, please stop…"

His voice started to tremble. America had no idea what he was doing with each lazy stroke, each curious movement of his hands.

The Slavic nation was really beginning to panic now. His eyes flicked to the sides, hands twitching with nervous and unwanted excitement.

"Alfred!" he squeaked, no longer in control of his own voice.

He worried his lip to keep himself from spilling any more sounds, only able to think about the touching, even though he was desperately trying to ignore it.

America still hadn't noticed what he was doing, hypnotized by the drawings on his flesh.

Russia flushed as he felt his body giving certain… reactions. His limbs were turning to jelly and his breathing sped up. He clenched his teeth to prevent a gasp from escaping. He had to get America to stop somehow.

With all the power he could muster, Russia put a hand to the younger nation's chest.

"A-Alfred, stop…" he panted, hoping the touch would get through to the other.

It did.

The American paused his movements, eyes snapping open. He looked as if he had just awoken, blue orbs having to adjust to the sight of a flustered, blushing (although it was harder to see with all the red paint) and out of breath Russian in front of him.

"Ivan? Everything all right there bud?"

He then saw the other's hand that was bashfully covering his unmentionable regions.

And it suddenly clicked in the blond's mind.

America scooted away as fast as possible, face immediately turning a dark crimson.

"O-oh! OH! S-sorry there big guy! D-d-d-d-didn't mean to-you know…"

He laughed a bit hysterically, waving his hands frantically.

Russia was blushing like a madman, both hands held protectively over his shameful arousal. He would have hidden his face in his scarf if he had the thing on, beyond embarrassed with the situation. His eyes were scrunched shut, as if he could pretend he was somewhere else by blocking out his environment.

"Okay then!" America nearly shouted. "I-I'll just leave you alone! S-s-sorry again bud, really didn't mean to… I'll get your scarf and coat to be cleaned! Yeah, you can count on me! And I'm really, really sorry!"

He then grabbed the clothes, slipped and fell out of the bathtub, scrambled up, and ran out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Once outside, he immediately jumped into his bedroom, where he began running circles to try and calm himself down.

' _OKAY! SO APPARENTLY I HAVE ACCIDENTLY TOUCHED RUSSIA'S EROGENOUS ZONE! HOW THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?! I PRACTICALLY ALMOST VIOLATED HIM WITHOUT EVEN REALIZING IT! OH MY GOD, I'M A MOLESTER!_ '

America was definitely freaking out. And also a tad aroused. But mostly hysteric.

It took him a while to calm down enough to go outside to get Russia's clothes cleaned.

* * *

America hesitantly knocked on the door.

"Ivan? Are you in there?"

No response.

The nation fumbled with the bag he was holding, and pulled out a scarf. It wasn't Russia's scarf; that one needed a little bit more time to be cleaned. This one was something he bought in a supermarket along the way, figuring the Russian really couldn't do without something to cover up his neck. It wasn't the real deal, but it was better than nothing.

"Ivan?" he called again. "Your scarf and coat will be done tomorrow. Until then, I have something else to put around your neck. Should I just leave it by your door or…?"

The door creaked open. A hand was held out, waiting for the gift. America laid the piece of clothing in it, and immediately Russia retracted his arm and slammed the door shut.

America sighed.

"Come on Ivan! I'm terribly sorry, I truly had no idea! If I _had_ known, I would've never touched you like that. Honest."

He was once again met by silence.

"Please don't be mad at me," he whined. "I'll give you all the vodka you want if you just come out! I promise I won't touch you, it reeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaally wasn't my intention!"

America had to put his ear to the wood to be able to make out the mumbled answer.

"I am not mad…" Russia's voice sounded.

"If you're not mad, then won't you come out?" America pleaded. He would do anything to make it up to the Russian, ashamed of his actions, even though he _really_ hadn't meant for _that_ to happen.

"But I am embarraaaaaaaaaaaassed," the older nation sobbed.

America felt really bad about himself. Had he accidently broken Russia?

"Please don't be," he groaned.

He held a fist against the wood, wanting to punch through it and storm inside.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's my fault, so I should be the one who's embarrassed."

Russia didn't elaborate.

"…Listen, can I please come in? I really want to make this up to you. I won't come near you if you don't want me to."

"…The door is open…" the Russian whispered, voice almost going unheard.

Relief washed over the blue-eyed nation as he pushed against the wood. He cautiously glanced inside, not wanting to startle the other.

He found Russia in the corner of the room. His arms were hugging his knees to his body, his face still a light pink, and only his nose was peeking over his temporary scarf. He looked really small and innocent right then, two adjectives America had never thought he'd use for Russia in the past.

The American tentatively took a few steps closer, but stopped at a respectable distance. He crouched down, and looked at the floor.

"I really mean it when I say I'm sorry. I had no idea what I was doing. If I did, I would've never done that. You have to believe me on this one."

"I believe you…" was the muffled response.

America looked up. Russia hadn't moved from his spot, but apparently he was willing to talk.

"Then won't you look at me?"

"No! I am embarrassed!" Russia shut his eyes and buried his face even deeper.

America sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

The atmosphere was filled with awkwardness, and the nation didn't really know what to do to make the other relax. He had actually expected Russia to get mad at him and chase him with his pipe, but instead he was met by a quivering bundle of ashamed nation. When it came to sex, Russia was a lot more naïve and timid than America would have ever thought him to be. The American would even go as far as to say that Russia was still untouched, but he knew that couldn't possibly be true. The Russian was way older than him, he had to have had sex at some point in his life.

' _Um, brain? Now's not the best time to think about that,_ ' he reminded himself.

Yes, now was the time to act like a comforting adult, even though he was the younger one of the two. Russia needed America to assure him everything was going to be all right.

"Vanya," he said, tone soft and soothing.

Russia hesitantly opened his eyes, gaze still fixed on the carpet.

"There's really nothing to be ashamed of. It was all my mistake, so I'll take full responsibility for what happened. I'm not mad at you, I'm not disgusted, and I would never laugh at you. It's a natural reaction, could happen to anyone. But I'm still very sorry. Please forgive me? I mean it, I'll do anything to make it up to you. Heck, you can even knock me out or something if you want to!"

Russia remained silent for a little while longer, before lifting up his face.

"You promise?" he asked, voice misleadingly high and childish.

The sunny blond nodded and grinned. He had no idea what he had just agreed to, but as long as the tall nation was talking to him again, he was absolutely willing to do _anything_.

Russia smiled.

America realized what he had just gotten himself into.

He swallowed and braced himself.

The next moment, screams could be heard from America's estate. They say Canada couldn't sleep that night, tormented by the howling and cursing that reached his house. He pulled a pillow over his head and groaned, impressed that Kumajiro could sleep through all this noise.

"Alfred, what have you done this time?"

The next morning, Russia exited his room. He was in a good mood once again, whistling a jolly tune as he went downstairs for breakfast.

America was still lying in the room, face covered in blood, successfully knocked out. Luckily for him the wounds were minor and no bones were broken, so he would heal relatively fast.

And know that Russia had gone easy on him, just using him for a bit of target practice.

It could have been a lot worse.

…Okay, I'm kidding. Russia did not use America for target practice.

He tried to teach him ballet.

Which is a _lot_ worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, and an interesting point I forgot to put into the last chapter. I already discussed it with Professor Owlfeather but I thought I'd add it here as well. I know America and Russia weren't always enemies like they were in the Cold War, but since the Cold War is still fairly recent, it's still fresh on their memories. Hence there being more references to the Cold War than to other events. But I guess you could say one of the reasons these two could become friends as quickly as they did, is because they used to be on friendlier terms before the war.


	35. Surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America has a little surprise for his big buddy

Russia played with the temporary replacement for his scarf around his neck. He was taking big strides, which wasn't a hard task for a guy his size.

America had asked of him to go outside until noon. Russia had inquired why he had to do that, but the American had replied with something vague about top secret documents involving cats doing the cancan. It was now a quarter to twelve, and the tall nation figured he would be allowed back in the house now.

Of course he was going to have a little word with the other about politeness and hospitality directed towards one's guest. It wasn't because he now had feelings for the younger nation that he was allowed to do whatever he wanted to him, after all.

When the Russian came up to the door, he could hear voices inside.

Ah, maybe America was having a meeting with someone? But it _was_ noon, so that meant Russia was allowed back inside, yes?

Then he heard the noise of something breaking, followed by a string of curses coming from a very angry American. The tall nation paused at hearing this. Maybe they weren't in a meeting? Maybe-maybe there were burglars!

Normally, Russia wouldn't have worried. America could take care of himself perfectly fine when it came to people breaking and entering. Only, the fact that he was now in love with the guy on top of the angry tone of the other's voice, made him very concerned for the nation's well-being all of a sudden. Maybe they had succeeded in somehow tranquilizing his friend?

Russia perked up, a big smile on his face. Maybe it was his turn to play the hero! And what a hero he was going to be.

' _Oh, those thieves won't know what came over them~_ ' he thought gleefully. Time to make them regret they were ever born!

Russia started kol'ing and pulled out his pipe for good measure. He tried to turn the doorknob, but found it locked. Oh, but that was quite all right! The Russian was an expert in picking locks after all.

In a record time the door was softly pushed open. The voices were coming from the living room, and he could also hear music for some reason.

Blending in with the shadows, Russia quietly made his way towards the door, which was slightly ajar.

"No, that doesn't belong there! Stop it, get it out!" sounded America's frantic voice.

Russia froze, his foot still lifted in the air. Could it be that these people weren't just breaking in?

A red shroud spread in front of his eyes. If his observations were correct, then he wouldn't just make those people forget they were ever born. Oh no, he would make them regret ever even thinking of coming near his little sunflower, and instead they would wish it was the devil coming for them!

Russia swung the door open, pipe raised high, ready to start beating the shit out of anyone who dared lay their hands on the American.

Instead of seeing burglars (or worse), there was suddenly a very, very, very, very, very, very drunk England splayed across his chest.

"Oooh heeeeeeeeeeeeey! You're heeeeeeeeeeeeere, ya bleedin' fucktart! Suuuuurpriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiise~~"

Russia blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he looked up.

What on earth had happened here while he was gone?!

* * *

xoxox _Several hours earlier_ xoxox

America watched Russia's retreating back from his window. As soon as he was out of sight, he raced over to his bedroom and pulled a bag from under his bed. The bag was filled with party decorations for Russia's surprise birthday party! Good thing the older nation had never asked him exactly what he'd bought in the mall a couple of days ago.

The blond draped serpentines over the couch, counter and chairs, he put up some atmospheric lights, and he covered the table in paper snowflakes. The ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of the first guest.

"You should be on your bloody knees, thanking me for doing this!" England grumbled as he pushed a couple of bouquets of sunflowers into his arms. The Brit had been put in charge of flower decorations. At first he had wanted to help bake a cake, but luckily France had convinced him otherwise. Speaking of France…

"Ah, Amérique! It is so very nice of you to do this for monsieur Russie!"

America ducked to avoid being kissed on both of his cheeks. France seemed to be his regular self again, and if the frown on England's face meant anything, then so was his former caretaker. He was very happy that the problems between those two appeared to have been solved.

"Thanks for coming, it really means a lot to me!" America beamed, taking the cake and wine that France had brought with him.

He gave them both funny hats (England begrudgingly put on the little halo while France had a pair of cat ears), and sent them to the kitchen to take care of the booze.

Soon after, Lithuania arrived.

"I made sure that miss Natalia is busy today. Although I really think she would have loved to see her brother again," Lithuania said, while giving the American a hug and a couple of bottles of vodka.

"Yeah, but we don't want him panicking today," the blond mumbled.

Ukraine arrived with some freshly baked cookies and snacks, very happy that her boss had allowed her to visit the American (she hadn't told him her little brother would be there as well).

Japan came too, bringing his camera to take photographs of the party. He only came because America had practically begged him to, and it wasn't polite to keep refusing his offer. Japan wasn't really comfortable around the Russian, but America assured him nothing was going to happen.

Prussia came with beer and music, bringing that one guy that looked a lot like him – right, his brother! Canada had baked some pancakes, and Kumajiro was more than happy to be able to see his big friend again.

South Korea only came because "Surprise parties originated in South Korea, da ze!"

Hungary was there too for some reason (America didn't remember inviting her), but when he asked her about it, she just told him that "My sixth sense was tingling, so I had to come!" America had no idea what she was talking about, but knowing Hungary, he didn't want to know either.

At first everything was going quite well. With still about an hour left, America quickly went upstairs to take a short shower and dress up nicely. But when he came back down, things had escalated.

"Alfreeeeeeeeeeeeed, this soup is so yummyyyyyyyyyyy!" England slurred.

"WHO GAVE IGGY BOOZE?" America roared.

Prussia tried to sneak away, but the young nation caught him before he could get too far.

"Come on Gilbert, you know how he gets when he's drunk!"

"Kesesesese! It wasn't my fault, he could've said no!"

While America and Prussia argued, Japan helped Hungary set up cameras all around the house.

"Elizabeta-san, can I ask you why we are setting up cameras?" Japan inquired.

"I have a feeling we'll be getting some very interesting footage my good friend!" Hungary giggled.

"By footage, do you mean…?"

Hungary nodded, a maniacal glint in her eyes. "Something tells me we'll need some tissues after seeing it, my fellow yaoi-lover!"

Japan bashfully bowed his head, but his eyes were shining.

"Hai. Let us continue then."

Kumajiro had found the pool and was taking a swim. Gilbird was 'helping' with the decorations AKA he was picking flowers from the garden and dragging them inside, getting dirt all over the floor.

France was trying to keep South Korea from touching England's non-existent breasts. Now that they were lovers, he didn't approve of any perverted actions towards the Englishman. At least not when he wasn't the one doing it.

Lithuania, Canada and Ukraine were actually trying to help, but when somebody mentioned that their hockey team was better than Canada's, the quiet nation got a little infuriated.

Prussia was now trying to put the cake in the deepfreeze, at which America yelled "No, that doesn't belong there! Stop it, get it out!"

It was then that Russia entered the room and almost got tackled by England. America noticed the arrival of his guest of honour, and groaned. He quickly walked over to him.

"Hey, buddy! You're here already!"

Russia still had a puzzled expression on his face, while he was trying to keep the Brit from falling to the ground.

"What is happening here?" he asked, watching South Korea chase Lithuania around the living room.

America awkwardly scratched his head.

"Well, we were sorta, you know, planning a surprise party for you. So… surprise!"

Russia's violet eyes went wide as he turned to look at his friend.

"A party? But it is not a special day?"

America shook his head. "No, you see, it's actually more or less a belated birthday party. You know, since you said you never had any."

Russia's eyes went even wider, if that was still possible.

"So this is a birthday party? For me?"

America nodded. "Yeah, but things got kinda out of hand. I'm sorry-"

America stopped talking when he saw the look in those (beautiful) eyes. They were filled with joy, his cheeks tinted a happy pink, and his big smile was genuine. Russia dropped England unceremoniously to the ground and pulled America into a bear-like hug, swirling him around.

"Spasiba Alfred! Oh, nobody has ever planned a party for me! Thank you, this makes me very happy!"

America blushed and grinned. After Russia put him down, he apologized again for the mess.

Russia shook his head. "It does not matter! I am thankful, really!" His face was overjoyed and childishly ecstatic and really, really cute.

America had a big goofy grin on his face.

"All right, let's get this party started then!"

* * *

"How old are you actually?" America asked his friend.

They were sitting at a table outside, each with a piece of cake. Russia hadn't even gotten angry when they found Prussia had already eaten half of the cake (Hungary had punished him with her frying pan for that). He was just happy with the thought.

The Russian was really touched with everything the younger nation had done for him. From bringing his sister to the sunflowers to just about every little thing. Admittedly, most of the nations still avoided him, but Russia couldn't care less today. The fact that they were here was more important.

"How old I am?" he asked, before taking another bite of his piece.

America nodded. "Yeah, I know you're a lot older than I am, but can you give me like, an estimation?"

Russia thought it over for a bit before leaning towards the other and whispering the answer in his ear. America almost fainted.

"What?! Damn, you're an old geezer!"

Russia giggled. "China for example is older, you know. I am most definitely not the oldest one around."

America shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the new information.

"I know it must seem like a very long time for a little puppy like yourself."

America huffed. "I ain't no puppy big guy! You're just… just… Like, one of those turtles who live very long!"

"You mean the ones from the Galapagos islands?"

"Yes, those!"

Russia playfully narrowed his eyes. "If I am a tortoise, then you are definitely a duckling."

"Oh yeah?! If I'm a duckling, then you are an old wrinkled parrot!"

"If I am parrot, then you are baby bunny~" Russia sung.

"If I'm a baby bunny, then you're a fat polar bear!"

"If I am fat, then you are a pig."

"If I'm a pig, then you're just a commie bastard!"

They both paused, looking at each other with wide eyes.

Then they burst into hysterical laughter.

* * *

"Kesesesese! Your brother really gets along well with the Ruski!" Prussia cackled, watching the American choke on his cake through the kitchen window.

Canada looked up from his pancake. "Y-yeah, I guess you could say that."

France joined them. "Oh? What do you mean by that my red-eyed friend?"

Prussia grinned mischievously. Canada shot him a warning glance.

"He means just that. They're friends."

France cocked an eyebrow, catching the underlining tone of his words.

"My dearest Mathieu. Are we keeping secrets from papa?"

Canada pursed his lips, but his boyfriend was less secretive.

"Back in Ottawa, after you left, we saw the Ruski almost kiss him!"

France's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? That is very interesting indeed! Ohonhonhonhon~"

The Canadian gave Prussia a light slap on his arm.

"They're not together if that's what you think," he informed them, taking another bite of his pancake.

"And how do you know that?" Prussia inquired, crimson eyes piercing.

Canada almost choked on his pancake, and could only speak after Prussia gently rubbed his back.

"W-well, if they were, Al would've told me!"

"Maybe he's keeping it a secret," France said in a sing-song voice.

"No, he told me they're not in a relationship," he said in a tone that left no opening for argument. Then he realized his mistake.

"Oh, so you two talked about this? Well, that means there must be something there," France purred.

"I didn't say anything!" Canada crossed his arms.

Suddenly, Japan and Hungary showed up out of nowhere.

"What is this? America and Russia are in love?" Hungary asked, drooling slightly.

"Where did you guys come from?" Canada wanted to know, but his question went unnoticed.

Prussia and France draped an arm over the newcomers.

"Oui. Apparently they are not in a relationship, but there is something there~"

"Kesesese!"

Hungary got a hungry look in her eyes.

"Who do you think would top? I'm guessing Russia would be a surprisingly cute bottom, but America would be a lot louder!"

Canada covered his ears, getting a little nauseous at the new topic of conversation.

"Hai, I agree. But I think it would prove to be difficult because they both have a lot of pride."

Japan and Hungary contemplated it for a bit, France panted, and Prussia just kept cackling. The sound of Lithuania protecting Ukraine from being jumped by South Korea could be heard in the background.

"Maple! Stop thinking about my brother! It's not even sure if Ivan loves him back!"

Four pairs of eyes were now trained on the Canadian.

"Oh? Did Alfred tell you this too?" France asked.

Canada groaned and put his head on the table. Now that the word was already out, he might as well keep talking.

"Yes. We had a long talk, and he told me that he does feel something for Russia, but that he wasn't sure if the other loved him back."

Crimson, azure, dark chestnut and verdant clashed with each other. Then, three wide and one less visible grin showed.

"Then we'll just have to find out!" Prussia snickered.

"All right! Time for Operation Beauty and the Beast to start!" Hungary cheered.

"Oh, that's a good one!" France commented.

"What are you going on about?" Canada squeaked.

His voice went, again, unnoticed.


	36. Beauty and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to carry out the plan.

The kitchen had momentarily been transformed into a military base, used for planning out Operation Beauty and the Beast.

South Korea had mingled in with the preparations, Lithuania and Ukraine were talking with the two guys they were making plans for to distract them, and England was passed out, so he wouldn't be of much use.

Canada was feeling a bit conflicted. On one hand, he felt bad about giving away his brother's secrets, and he didn't like the others meddling with his love life. On the other hand, he wanted to help. Because even though America had told him he was certain Russia didn't feel anything for him, there was still that tiny possibility that he was wrong. And Canada wished for his brother's happiness, even though he could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.

"I really think this could work!" Prussia said triumphantly.

"Plans originated in South Korea, da ze!"

"So everyone knows what their job is?" Hungary asked.

"Sumimasen Elizabeta-san, but what will we do about this?"

"Ohonhonhonhonhon~"

"Maple…" Canada sighed, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

Outside, Ukraine was talking with her brother, and Lithuania had taken America for a walk around the garden.

"Mr. America, it's a miracle!"

"Please Toris, I keep telling you to call me Alfred! And what do you mean, a miracle?"

Lithuania smiled gently.

"I have never seen Mr. Russia this happy! He hasn't tried to intimidate anyone all evening, and he only gave Gilbert a very light punch when he kept staring at Miss Ukraine's chest! I think you being friends with him really has done wonders to his bad moods and temper!"

America shrugged. "I didn't really do anything."

"But it was still enough. I am really grateful Alfred."

America smiled and put his hands in his pockets, bashfully kicking a rock into the pool. They could hear Ukraine laughing as Russia had to hold a demanding Kumajiro in his arms.

"So, you having any fun?"

Lithuania nodded. "Oh, definitely! Thank you for inviting me, by the way."

"Well, I figured since you know both of us, you should be here."

Lithuania chuckled. "It was a nice idea to throw him a belated birthday party. I would've never thought of it."

"Yeah, I felt like he deserved it. Nobody's birthday should go by unnoticed!"

"Sumimasen," a voice interrupted. They turned to see Japan standing behind them.

"Alfred-kun, Lithuania-san, could you come inside? We are going to play a game."

"What kind of game?" the American wanted to know.

Japan smiled mischievously. "You'll see."

Prussia had a little less success getting the other two to come with him, Russia thinking he wanted to assault his sister again. He re-entered the house with a blue eye and a hand rubbing his cheek.

They all sat down in the living room, Canada having to bear the weight of a certain Russian in his lap, and England just having been dropped on the coffee table, where he kept snoring.

"All right, we're playing truth or dare!" Hungary exclaimed.

"Truth or dare origin-"

South Korea was cut off by a tap on the head from Russia.

"I'll start!" Prussia said, grinning wickedly.

His eyes scanned the other nations. They had agreed not to immediately pick America or Russia, trying to keep them from being suspicious.

"Where is my little Birdie?" he asked, looking around for the Canadian.

An arm waved at him from under Russia's body.

"Oh, sorry Matvey! Why did you not say you were there?" Russia teased.

"I did…" Canada mumbled, after finally finding freedom again.

"All right, Matthew! Truth or dare?"

"Truth," the nation's soft voice sounded.

The albino thought about what to ask him. "Were those magazines under your bed really Alfred's?"

Canada turned a dark red. "No," he whispered.

Prussia grinned widely, and America scowled at him for making his brother feel uncomfortable. The Canadian quickly recovered however.

"Katyusha, truth or dare?"

"Oh!" Ukraine didn't know what to say. "Dare, I guess?"

Canada smiled reassuringly at her; he wouldn't think of any ridiculous dares.

"I dare you to give Kiku a hug."

Japan sputtered incomprehensibly as Ukraine invaded his personal space. He was more than happy when he didn't feel those large assets of hers pressed against him anymore.

"All right then!" Ukraine said in a chipper voice. "I choose… Elizabeta!"

Hungary perked up. "For me it's a dare of course!"

Ukraine smiled and nodded. "I dare you to kiss Gilbert on his foot!"

Prussia began laughing maniacally, but stopped when he got hit by Hungary's frying pan. Once he was unconscious, she took off his shoe and placed a small kiss on his big toe before returning to her seat.

"All right, Kiku! Truth or dare!"

"Truth," Japan said, not wanting to do any more touching today.

"Where did you get those pictures I saw at your house last week?"

Japan's cheeks got a rosy colour. "They were from Feliciano-kun's place."

"Hah! I knew it!" Hungary shouted.

Prussia regained consciousness at that moment. "What, you mean those pictures of West and Feli doing the-"

Canada rapidly covered his mouth, not wanting this game to get too vulgar.

"All right then. Francis-san, your turn."

"Dare," France purred, winking at his Prussian friend.

"I dare you to take pictures of Arthur-san next time he dresses up as a waiter again."

France's eyes glazed over. "You've got yourself a deal, mon ami."

After Prussia had to do some caramelldansen, he directed his attention at the host of the party.

"Alfred. Truth or dare."

"I'm gonna say truth this time-"

America was immediately met by boos and complaints. He defensively put his hands up.

"Hey, I have every right to choose truth!"

Prussia cackled. "What, is little America too scared? Is the big hero actually a big chicken?"

America's eye twitched.

Nobody, and I repeat nobody, called Alfred F. Jones a chicken and got away with it.

"Fine, then I choose dare!" he growled.

Prussia smirked.

"I dare you to kiss the Ruski."

America blinked a total amount of three times. He then looked at Russia, who was having the same sheepish look of astonishment on his face.

"Um, what about no?" he said.

"No can do, mon ami!" France laughed.

"And know what, to make it easier on you, we'll give you some privacy!" Prussia said, as he pulled Hungary and Canada up from the couch.

The nations began standing up, all heading towards the hallway and up the stairs.

"Wait, wait, wait, you gotta be joking right?" America asked nervously, eyes shooting over all the disappearing guests.

"Nope! We'll just go to your bedroom and continue the game there, and don't worry, we won't ruin your furniture! But you two are to stay down here for a full hour, and if you haven't kissed by then, I'll announce to the whole world that the United States of America is a big chicken and a wuss puss!"

America tried to stop them from leaving, but before he knew it, Lithuania and Ukraine had dragged England out of the room and shut the door behind them with an audible click, indicating that it was now locked.

"Hey, you can't lock me up in my own house!" America yelled through the wood, banging on the door, but not too hard since he didn't want to pay for the repairs.

"We'll be back in an hour!" sounded Hungary's voice.

America groaned and turned towards the Russian, who was still sitting in the same place. The bedazzled look hadn't left his face yet.

America shrugged. "So, what do we do now?"

Russia shrugged as well. He was absolutely clueless. On one hand he would give anything to kiss the American, but on the other hand… He didn't want things to become awkward between them, he didn't know if he would be able to stop himself if they were to start kissing, and most of all, he was a bit shy now that everyone was practically forcing them to do something so intimate with each other (since the revelation about his feelings he now understood kissing was in fact something intimate).

America kept standing by the door for a little while, not really knowing what to do next. He didn't believe his brother would agree with this, having been told how he felt about the Russian. The little traitor!

America sighed and walked over to the door leading to his garden, finding that one locked as well. Apparently it had been their plan to shut them in all along. It made America wonder how many of them were in on this little evil plot.

Russia was still sitting on the couch, twiddling his thumbs.

"Oh yeah, that reminds me," the American suddenly said.

Russia looked up as his companion opened the zipper of his jacket and took out a small package.

"Your scarf came back from the dry cleaners. They said your coat would take a little longer, but this one was already done."

He made a vague movement with his arms, and then held the package in front of him.

"Um, happy birthday or something, I guess?"

Russia smiled, got up, and walked over to him. The American handed him his treasure. While cautiously ripping the paper confining his beloved scarf, the younger nation kept talking.

"Well, I guess we could do the sunflower viewing as your real present. We can go whenever you want to. But for now, I hope you're happy with just the party."

Russia sent him a gentle smile.

"Spasiba Fedya. I really mean it when I say I am grateful."

The scarf unfolded itself in his hands, the wrapping paper falling to the ground. Russia looked at the piece of clothing for a moment, finding it extra soft and perfectly clean. His glowing spheres then met the blue ones of America. He held the scarf out for him to grab. America did as asked, wondering what the Russian was planning. His eyes went wide when he saw the tall nation taking off the temporary scarf America had given him. He placed it on the coffee table, and then turned towards the sunny blond once more.

In this light the scars on his neck were even more visible. America wanted to know how he got them, but the questions died on his numb tongue. Russia slightly bent forward, a silent request for the other to clothe him, make him complete again.

America swallowed and closed the remaining distance. He placed his arms around Russia's neck, carefully wrapping his precious scarf around it. He tried to act as if he didn't notice the incessant staring, those violet orbs burning into his skin, painting his cheeks a lovely pink. He just kept thinking about the task at hand, arms working on auto-pilot, wrapping the scarf around his neck, again and again and again.

Finally, when there was no more scarf left, he tucked the end in his shirt, careful to avoid the sensitive skin of his scruff. After that, his arms fell uselessly to his sides.

They were standing so close, their faces almost touching.

America's blush increased when the question escaped his mouth.

"Maybe we should kiss?" he stammered.

Russia blinked, but didn't back away. America took it as a sign he could continue his explanation.

"You know, just to satisfy those stupid idiots." He motioned weakly at the door, looking for excuses. "And I don't really wanna be called a chicken and… stuff."

Russia had a faint blush on his face as well.

Their heads were still really close.

"D-da, maybe that is for the best. Plus I have my own pride as the Russian Federation," he lied smoothly.

"Okay. So…"

They remained quiet for a few seconds, faces growing redder and redder. Russia tried not to jump when America placed his hands on his shoulders.

"It's just a kiss, right? No biggie. We'll make it a quick one, and then we can get out of here."

Russia nodded. It was just a kiss. Didn't have to mean a thing.

America took a deep breath and leant forward, not stopping until their lips touched.

Both nations froze, wide-eyed with shock. Their hearts speeding up simultaneously, only now fully realizing just what exactly they were doing. Neither of them moved a muscle, standing there in that clumsy position, America with his hands gripping the Russian's shoulders, Russia's arms dangling.

America wanted to pull away, but he also wanted to kiss the tall nation, as in actually kiss, not just holding his mouth against the other.

He almost fainted when Russia hesitantly moved his lips, as if experimenting with the American's reaction.

The younger nation was too surprised to do anything.

' _RUSSIA IS KISSING ME?!_ ' his mind shrieked, eyes almost plopping out at the mere thought. His heart was thundering in his chest now, as if trying to escape his body.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Russia made a noise, something between a whine and a sob. The tall nation retracted his lips, and buried his face in his scarf, squeezing his eyes shut and his eyebrows scrunched together.

He was utterly embarrassed. He had finally found the courage to give the younger man a real kiss, and the other hadn't reacted. He had ruined it all. He had shattered his façade of not caring and made a complete and utter fool out of himself. America had to be disgusted by him, or angry, or whatever else he could possibly be. Russia felt like crying in a corner right now.

The Russian cautiously opened his eyes when he felt a tugging at his scarf, not wanting to face the other. He was startled by the close proximity of America's face, his blue eyes having a determined glare to them. He was more than startled when America pulled his scarf beneath his chin, and connected their lips a second time. And this time, it was him who initiated the actual kissing.

His hands were holding Russia's head in place, as if thinking he would try to escape again.

As if.

Yes, they had kissed before. But never like this. Those _things_ were just little pecks considered to this. Even then the American had noticed how soft and smooth the other's lips were, but now that he could fully feel them, it was heavenly.

Russia's movements were hesitant, bashful, nothing compared to the encouraging shifting of the younger nation. His arms trembled as he wrapped them around America's waist, still not fully believing this was actually happening.

America took a step closer, so that their bodies were now flush against each other. He tried to coax the other into a more proactive state, differentiating his actions between small kisses on his bottom lip and waving movements over the entire surface of his mouth. Russia whimpered, his hands clenching more tightly.

When America curiously opened one eye to look at the other, he was met with a sight that was immediately burnt into his memory. Russia was blushing fiercely, and the way his eyes were clenched shut made him look adorable. He looked both timid and excited, a deadly combination for the sunny blond.

America pulled away for the briefest of moments, allowing the other to catch his breath, before diving in for another kiss.

This time, he let his tongue trail over Russia's lower lip, asking for access. Russia paused a moment, heart feeling like it could fall out again, before slowly parting his lips. America gave him no time to contemplate the impulsive decision, immediately entering the other's mouth.

Russia shuddered at the new sensations taking over him. America's tongue swayed across his sensitive palate, thoroughly exploring the cavern of his mouth. His tongue did things Russia didn't even know tongues could do. He started moving his own muscle as well after feeling America's slide against it, demanding him to participate. He became less hesitant as instinct took over, their tongues twirling around each other in a heated dance for dominance. A moan escaped his throat, letting the other know he was doing a very good job.

They both still couldn't believe this was actually happening.

After America let go for the second time, Russia licked at the other's lips. His shyness was swiftly disappearing, wanting more of the warmth, the pleasurable wetness, wanting more of his little sunflower.

America growled and pushed him onto the couch. Russia cracked an eye open in surprise, demanding to know what was happening. He understood when America followed his lead, crawling on top of him and once again capturing his lips.

Hands grabbing at hair, fingers sliding across clothed backs, lips needy and breath coming out in pants.

Russia had never kissed anyone like this before, not while feeling like this, with this desire, this eager wobbling of his heart. He wanted it to last forever.

And then they were interrupted by America's phone.

The American considered just letting it be, but the sound suddenly seemed to agitate his kissing partner. Russia's eyes shot open and his movements ceased, as if only now comprehending the situation. America stopped as well, cursing his phone for disrupting the moment, and got off the couch. He walked over to the other side of the room and took the call, ready to snarl at whoever dared disturb him.

It happened to be his boss, reminding him of the next World Conference that was being held in exactly a week.

"Yeah, I know," America sighed, rubbing the back of his head. He turned around when he heard a lock being undone.

Canada opened the door and was about to tell them they could come out now, when he was pushed aside by a sprinting Russian.

"Ah, hang on a sec – Ivan, wait!" the blue-eyed nation called.

Russia ran to the guest room and shut the door behind him. America groaned and helped his brother off the ground.

"No, it was nothing…" he said to Obama. He just wanted to end this call already and go check on the other.

Canada was throwing him puzzled looks, but America gestured for him to wait.

"Yeah, okay. Bye." He put away his phone and raced up the stairs.

"What happened Al?" Canada inquired, but America ignored him.

He stopped in front of Russia's door and knocked.

"Ivan? Everything all right there buddy?"

"Da," came Russia's muffled voice. "I just remembered I still need to do something."

"Okay…"

America was feeling really insecure.

Had he scared the Russian by being so forceful? Was he regretting what they'd done? Or maybe he was confused, not knowing if friends did stuff like this? America felt like banging his head against the wall. What if that was indeed what the Russian thought? What if the kiss meant absolutely nothing to him? But then why would he be hiding? Was he embarrassed? Angry? Getting ready to go into psycho-mode again? Or maybe he had enjoyed it, but didn't know why?

Canada laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Alfred, what happened?"

America shot him an angry glare.

"We cracked him, that's what happened."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cellphones, the biggest cock block known by mankind.
> 
> Words:  
> Sumimasen: Excuse me


	37. Sister of mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia goes back to Moscow to gather his things, but gets a rather unpleasant surprise from his sister.

_Dear Alfred,_

_I have gone home to make my preparations for the next World Conference._

_I will contact you this evening._

_Целую , Ivan Braginsky_

 

That was the note America found lying on the table the next morning.

Okay. Nothing to worry about. Russia had written “dear Alfred,” so that meant he wasn't angry, right? And he said he would call him. America had no idea what the word at the bottom of the paper meant, but that didn't matter. Everything was going to be juuuuuuust fiiiiiine.

He sighed and turned to gaze at his living room.

Canada was sleeping with Kumajiro on his couch, a blanket draped over their bodies. Japan, Lithuania and Hungary had taken to sleeping on the carpet, while Ukraine had made a reasonably good bed out of his coffee table. Prussia and South Korea had disappeared to go out drinking, and nobody'd seen them ever since. France and England had locked themselves in his bedroom, and America had long since given up hope that they would keep his bed clean. It was clear to all that they made up.

America made a mug of his strongest coffee and downed it in one go, not even flinching as the hot beverage scalded his throat. The heath only helped waking him up.

The kitchen was still filled with torn decorations and party hats, leftovers and crumbles on the floor, because nobody had bothered putting them in the fridge. Gilbird made a nest on top of his PS4, but America let him, since the bird had kept it a lot cleaner than its master would've.

He wasn't even going to get started on what they'd done to his garden.

America hadn’t slept much that night. He had been sitting next to Russia's door, hoping he would come out at some point, waiting for him. Somewhere around six o'clock he must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, Russia's door was ajar, but no nation could be found inside. The only thing he had left behind was the little note, and the temporary scarf draped around America's neck.

Canada told the others not to disturb him that night, and so they'd gone off, doing their own things to continue the party. America let them, not really caring. He was still a little mad at them for locking him and Russia up (it was clearly a hoax), but he was more concerned about his friend/something more than a friend perhaps-maybe-hopefully. A certain Russian that had now fled his house, but had left behind a note that could only make the sunny blond optimistic that not all was destroyed.

After a quick search through his cupboards, America found some cereal. He poured it in a bowl and started munching away, not even bothering to add milk. He sat down at the table, waiting for his guests to wake up, not wanting to think about anything else anymore.

At some point, Canada woke up and joined him in the kitchen. America gave a curt nod as greeting, mouth busy chewing.

"Where is Ivan?" Canada asked cautiously.

"Moscow," was his brother's reply.

Five minutes of uncomfortable silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the Canadian asked again.

America shook his head.

More silence.

Then, Canada put Kumajiro down, stood up, and wrapped his arms around America's neck. The blue-eyed nation leant into the touch, letting the other comfort him.

The two brothers stayed that way for a while, until the peace and quiet was broken by a loud "WHY ON EARTH DO I HAVE A BLOODY WAITER COSTUME ON?!"

* * *

Russia was almost dancing through his bedroom, a skip in his step. He was neatly filling his suitcase for the next World Conference, presentation already prepared, paperwork taken care of. Russia was quite diligent when it came to his quote-unquote job. It was a miracle he had even been able to focus, what with the jittery fluttering of his heart, that funny feeling in his stomach, and the memory of touch imprinted on his lips.

Yes, he had been quite shaken at first, realizing how far they had gone. But after a night of thinking it through, he came to the conclusion that it must have meant something. After all, America himself initiated that second kiss! The Russian could feel a blush coming up at the recollection.

He didn't really know where to go from now, being a total newbie when it came to relationships (as his American friend would call it, or was it safe to start labelling him as more than a friend?). But he was planning on having a long talk with the other once he returned.

The Russian closed his suitcase and put it next to his travelling bag. Now to go downstairs for a drink, and then make a phone call to his overseas companion.

As soon as the nation stepped out of his room, he saw something rather peculiar and out of place lying on the wooden floor. It was a small paper card shaped like a perfect square, with what seemed to be golden flowers decorating the edges. Russia couldn't fathom how it had gotten there. Curious, he picked it up and flipped it over, finding a single sentence on the back of the card.

_You are hereby invited to the wedding of Ivan Braginski and Natalia Arlovskaya._

Russia's blood went cold, the hairs on his arms and neck tensed, and nervous sweat squeezed its way out of his pores.

"Big brotheeeeeeeeeeeer~" came a voice he had learnt to dread.

He slowly turned to his sister. She was dressed in a wedding dress, the white silk draped over her slender figure, legs untouched by cloth, feet held by lady-like pimps, a long gown following behind her. In her hands she held a bouquet of flowers; baby's breath, blue and white roses, freesia, and her brother's favourite, little sunflowers.

"Do you like it?" she asked seductively, batting her long eyelashes at him. "I made more of those. I want the entire world to know of our love!"

Russia couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh in frustration. He _really_ wasn't in the mood to deal with her right now.

"Natalia, please go home," he said, trying not to sound whiny.

Belarus pouted, which would have been cute were it not for the psychotic twitching of her eye.

"No. I have not seen you for a very long time now. I missed you."

She tried to wrap her hands around his arm, but he took a step back, away from his sister and towards the bedroom. If reasoning with her would fail, he could always use the hidden staircase to make a run for his panic room.

Belarus frowned. "That reminds me big brother. Where have you been?"

Russia's eyes shot to the tapestry, calculating the time it would take to get there and open the door.

"N-nowhere," he tried, voice unable to disguise his agitation.

The woman hissed. "Do not lie to me. Were you hiding from me again?"

"Of course not-"

"Were they threatening you?" she interrupted. "If anyone is threatening my brother, they will paaaaaay."

Baba Yaga (1) was a nice cookie-providing granny next to the witch that was now pulverizing the poor flowers in her hands.

"No one is threatening me-"

"Or were you with _him_?!"

The tall nation looked at her, puzzled.

"With who?" he asked, swiftly scanning his sister for any hidden knives.

"That filthy capitalist swine!" she spat, eyes glowing furiously. "I knew I should not have let him live! Now he has gone and kidnapped and probably brainwashed my dearest brother! Oh, but I will make sure he regrets it…"

Russia waved his hands to get her attention.

"Now now Natalia. That is not necessary. Alfred has absolutely no regretting to do."

Belarus' eyes grew to be the size of watermelons.

"What did you just call him?"

"Hm?" He was a little distracted, still trying to plan his escape, just in case.

"You called him by his first name!" she hissed.

Russia's eyes shot to her face, and he couldn't help but blush a tiny bit.

Which was the biggest mistake in the history of stupid, stupid mistakes.

Belarus shrieked and lunged at him. The Russian was of course much taller and stronger than the woman, but one: what she lacked in power, she made up for in insanity; two: it was really hard holding her down when she was kicking and squirming and kept screaming in his ear; and three: she was still his sister, and he didn't want to hurt her.

"Natalia, calm down!"

"Nyet! That dirty blyadischa has clouded your mind with his treacherous ideas! If he dares touch my brother, I will skin him and make him suffer!"

"You will not!" Russia snapped, losing his patience.

The sudden outburst made the Belarussian stop moving, her mouth agape.

"Alfred is very dear to me, and you will leave him alone!" he snarled.

At his words, without warning, Belarus started crying. Tears leaked out of her eyes, staining her cheeks. With her struggle, his anger died as well.

"Prosti, Bela. Please, do not cry…"

He made no move to further comfort her however. Their dysfunctional relationship was too awkward to allow him that.

"Why would you shout at me big brother? Did he tell you to do that?"

"No, no – please stop – Bela, there is no reason to cry, everything is fine, da? Alfred has done nothing wrong to me."

"Why are you protecting him?" she shrieked. The tears were still flooding, but her eyes were now glinting wickedly again, hands balled to fists, nails digging into the skin to the point of drawing blood.

Russia got a gentle expression on his face. He smiled melancholically.

"Because I love him."

That was the second big mistake he made that day.

Belarus breathed in sharply. "Love?" she asked in a venomous tone.

Russia nodded, lost in thought.

"Da. And I believe he likes me too~" he chuckled gleefully. "We even ki-"

A movement caught his attention, cutting off his sentence. His sister was slowly shaking her head, eyes cold and composed.

"He does not."

Russia blinked. A light frown found its way to his eyebrows.

"What are you saying, Natalia?"

"Nobody but I can love you. I am the only one who knows who you _truly_ are."

He began shaking his head as well, but the other continued.

"Have you forgotten that they all fear you? Have you forgotten what that western _freak_ has done to you? How much pain he caused you, again and again? How you helped him, yet all he did in return was start a war with you?"

"Stop," he whispered.

She mercilessly kept talking. Not because she wanted to hurt her, but because she thought he was bound to get hurt if she didn’t protect him now. Knowing that no one could be trusted with her precious big brother.

"Have you forgotten how much they _despise_ you? Every single one of them. Even our beloved sister, I know she secretly does. But not me. I am not afraid of you brother."

She was lying. Russia had seen the fear in her eyes at his previous outburst. She too was scared of his violent mannerisms.

"I have always been there for you brother. Even when everyone else left you. I have always been loyal to you."

When Russia kept shaking his head, she exploded again.

"Why?! What does he have that I have not?! He is a lying khuyesos', he is mocking you, and yet you claim that you like each other?! What, because you kissed?!" She stepped closer. "Kissing is nothing more than _lust_ , brother."

No. Let her stop.

"I can do it too. Anyone could kiss without love."

Make her stop.

"Only I could kiss you while feeling special, big brother."

Russia wanted to believe she was lying, he really did. But once the seed of doubt is planted, it's hard to get rid of.

"Only I understand you."

"Stop," he whispered once again, voice wavering.

Belarus' frown increased as she closed the remaining distance between them, and yanked down his scarf. The Russian froze as she lightly trailed the indication of a rope on his neck.

"Have you forgotten that they all think you are a monster?"

She had said the word he so desperately tried to run from. Because it was true, right? They all thought he was a cold killing machine, a merciless psychopath.

Belarus smiled. "Nobody can love you but me. We are all that matters. I will always be there for you Vanya."

When she planted a light kiss on his Adam's apple, he finally found the strength to push her away. He was panting slightly, but more from an inner struggle than from Belarus touching his neck.

All she said was true.

America could never love him. He was not capable of love.

A monster.

He had mistaken his feelings for something that could not be. Both of their feelings. America was stuck in the body of a hormonal teenager, it was very likely that kissing meant nothing to him. As for Russia… Maybe he had just been feeling lust as well. After all, he still had almost no experience when it came to those kind of sentiments, so it was perfectly plausible.

All this logic did not mean he wasn't feeling as if he were on the verge of falling into a deep and dark abyss.

"Get out," he said in a monotone voice.

Belarus pouted, but was happy he didn't shout or try to push her away anymore.

"I will come visit you again tomorrow. I hope you realize how silly it was of you to trust that pig."

As soon as she left the room, he slammed the door shut behind her. The nation grabbed a glass paperweight and flung it towards the opposite wall. The lovely sound of shattering did not reach his numb ears. He let his body slide down the wall, heart stinging painfully. Russia landed on the ground in a miserable little pile of emptiness. He grabbed his bottle of vodka and drank it all in one go.

There would be many more bottles passing the revue that night, trying to silence the hurt with a blissful sedative called alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Baba Yaga is a witch from Russian folklore.
> 
> Words:  
> Целую (Tseluyu): Kisses  
> Blyadischa: Whore


	38. Look at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America tries to talk to Russia, but fails.

A week. It had been a goddamn week since America had last seen or spoken to the Russian. Every single time he would try to contact him, he got voice mail. It was almost like that son of a bitch was avoiding him.

The surprise party had ended in a pretty good state. England and France had apparently taken care not to dirty his sheets, although the Brit kept denying anything happened ( _' _Come on dude, I'm not a kid anymore. I can recognize a hickey when I see one.'__ ) Hungary was in a suspiciously chipper mood, but the American decided not to question her. Japan, Lithuania and Canada helped him clean up. Ukraine tried to help as well, but her clumsiness did more bad than good inside the house, so she was appointed to tending to the garden.

Prussia and South Korea showed up somewhere around lunch time. South Korea was missing his pants, and the Prussian was covered in maple syrup. He explained he'd tried to buy some bottles for the Canadian, but he had no idea what happened after that. Canada forgave him, happy the other had thought about him on his drunken quest.

So, the party went rather well. Except for one thing. The guest of honour had disappeared from the surface of the earth.

Admittedly, it had given the American some time to catch up on his paperwork. Not that he could concentrate due to all of his worrying, but never mind that.

Now, the World Conference in Paris was coming up! And that meant he could just walk up to the guy and talk to him in person, easy as pie!

…Or so he hoped at least.

* * *

America opened a window and took in the scent of the city. He could smell freshly baked baguettes, roses, a hint of some expensive perfume (Chanel?), and those other typical city-scents one doesn't really want to elaborate on.

He turned around to look at his hotel room. France was hospitable enough to open up one of his most expensive hotels exclusively for the countries – too bad the staff was on strike, but oh well. Purple wallpaper, a crystal chandelier (what was that doing in a bedroom?), satin blankets on a four-poster bed, a closet that most definitely was not from Ikea. And the best part: 24/7 room service!

…Yeah, it really was a shame that the staff was on strike today.

America took out his little notebook for taking notes (his own presentation wasn't until tomorrow), locked the door behind him, and made for the conference building.

The blond arrived perfectly in time, despite what everyone else thought. Hey, if all the attendants were still talking, then that meant he was there in time. He took the only seat left (after bumping into that guy that looked like him and apologizing with a joke), and stole a glance at the nation sitting across of him.

Russia's violet orbs were fixed on the screen at the front of the room, waiting for China to begin his presentation about international trade. There was something… off, about his appearance. His creepy little smile was still in place, his scarf present around his neck, suit impeccable. But he looked dead-tired. His pale skin was unable to hide the bags under his eyes (that looked frigid and emotionless by the way), his hair had lost its silvery shine and now seemed almost dull, and the smell of vodka was even stronger than usual. Something was terribly wrong with him, and the people sitting close to him knew to stay as far away as possible.

France gave a small welcome and introduction to the meeting, after which China began with his presentation.

America couldn't focus. His eyes kept trailing back to the Russian, mutely pleading for the other to look his way. He tried kicking his leg, but ended up hitting Greece instead. The Greek bolted upright, having been awoken from his sleep, and shouted something along the lines of "Cats will rule the world!" which caused a momentary distraction.

America tried calling the other now that everybody was yelling again.

"Ivan!" he hissed.

Russia's eyebrow twitched, but he made no further movement. America tried kicking his leg again. Still no reaction. When he tried kicking a third time, his limb was suddenly caught in a vice-like grip. America yelped at the feeling of his bones almost being crushed.

Russia looked at him. But instead of the suspected anger, America had no idea what he could read in those eyes.

Disappointment? Betrayal? Desperation? Hate? Shame?

It was an emotion he couldn't name.

As soon as the Russian let go of his leg, he broke eye-contact.

America didn't try to bother him again throughout the rest of the meeting.

After a couple of hours, France announced it was time for a lunch break. America smiled. Now he could finally talk to his friend, and ask him what was wrong! Only, the Russian had already left the room, scooting away as soon as France had finished his sentence.

The American nation felt beyond frustrated. Now he was certain the other was avoiding him!

If only he knew why.

* * *

The second half of the meeting had begun, and with it, America had found a new way to try and contact the moody nation. Passing notes! He quickly scribbled something on a paper, and sent the first note flying. Russia was startled when he felt the little ball hit his arm. He stared at it with a puzzled expression, before folding it open.

_Ivan, can we talk?_ __Sincerely,_ _Alfred__

Russia's mouth formed a straight line. He wrote a quick response and sent the note flying back.

_There is nothing to talk about._

' _Nothing to talk about my ass!'_ America thought with a huff. And that is exactly what he wrote.

_Damn right we've got something to talk about! Why are you avoiding me?_ __Questionably,_ _Alfred__

This time the answer was:

_Just focus on the meeting._

But America wasn't about to give up that easily. He began writing a whole arsenal of notes, and sent them all towards the Russian, not even caring if he got a reaction out of him anymore.

_Is it about the kiss?_ __Apologetically,_ _Alfred__

_If I have upset you somehow, I'm really sorry._ __Beggingly,_ _Alfred__

_You know, you're being kind of a douchebag, ignoring me and all._ __Annoyingly,_ _Alfred__

_Hey Ivan, guess what?_

_Ivan!_

"America, cut it out this instant!" came Germany's voice.

America didn't get to pester Russia anymore that meeting, and again, as soon as it was finished, the other escaped the room before the blue-eyed nation could even blink.

* * *

"It's not fair Mattie!" an obnoxious voice wailed.

The American brothers were seated at a café at the Quartier Latin, each with a crêpe suzette. Kumajiro had gotten some smoked salmon from the nice owner, who was very amused at seeing a polar bear cub in the middle of France.

Canada sympathetically patted him on the back. "And you haven't spoken him ever since?"

America shook his head pathetically before burying it in his arms.

"Do you think it was because you two kissed?"

America shrugged, not lifting his head. He then spoke to the counter.

"It has to be! Everything was just fine and dandy before, and then we kiss, and suddenly he doesn't even want to look at me anymore! Tell me Mattie, am I that bad of a kisser?"

Canada turned a bit pink as the memory of two teenagers 'practicing' filled his mind.

"No Al, you're not bad. It has nothing to do with how good or bad the kiss was."

"Then he must think I'm gross or something!" was the muffled reply.

"Look Al, I have an idea. Russia's presentation tomorrow is planned right before lunch, eh?"

"I guess…"

"Well, then you just have to follow him! Make sure you're ready to go when he's done, and try to catch him when he plans on escaping again!"

America remained quiet for a bit. Then he lifted his head to look at his brother.

"You really think that'll work?"

Canada nodded. "You two have to talk. There is no way this can go on. And if he doesn't want to, you force him!"

The American chuckled. "My, my, since when have you become so aggressive?"

Canada smiled bashfully. "I guess it's Gil's fault. And I just don't want my brother to be sad."

America thought about that for a moment.

"How are things with you and Prussia anyway?"

Canada lowered his head, hands playing with the napkin in his lap. He had a gentle and pleased air hanging around him.

"Things are going fine, thank you. We've made plans for going on a trip to my cabin in the woods."

America's eyes went comically wide. "Mattie, don't you know cabins are dangerous?!"

Canada cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Dude, never seen that one? It's even called _Cabin in the Woods_! You sure there are no werewolves and stuff at that place?!"

Canada giggled. "No Al. I've had that cabin for quite a long time now, and I've never seen any monsters there."

"You should still be careful," the American mumbled.

"Don't worry about me."

America grinned and gave the Canadian a bro-fist.

"Thanks for the advice by the way. Tomorrow, I'll follow him around like a shark who's sniffed some blood!"

"As long as you don't take a bite out of him."

America grew silent, imagining himself nipping at the Russian's naked skin. Canada gave him a playful shove when he noticed the glazed look in his eyes.

"Are you seriously imagining having sex with him right now?"

"Wha-no! I-"

America hid his overheated face as the Canadian rolled over the floor laughing. Kumajiro simply kept eating, being as happy as a polar bear can be in the middle of a Parisian café.

* * *

"All right, so I think we would all benefit if we changed all currencies to the dollar!" America smugly stated, causing the others to yell at him.

Well sorry if he was the only one coming up with such marvellous ideas, and everybody else had no appreciation for his vision. At least his presentations weren't as boring as Germany's or England's. No, he had style! Class! He was a slick guy, gliding through these things!

If only he could get a certain Russian to TAKE HIS EYES OFF THE TABLE AND LOOK AT HIM!

America blinked when he noticed everyone had gone quiet.

Oh shit. He had said that out loud, hadn't he?

"Uh, yeah… So, anyone in favour of my proposition?"

Nobody raised his hand. Which didn't really matter, because Russia was still _not looking at him_.

"Ve~ Can we have pasta?" Northern Italy asked, after which the conversations started up again.

America sighed. If he could save himself from that situation with the greatest of ease, then why was dealing with Russia so difficult? Yes, the tall nation was a bit of a weirdo, but they had gotten along just fine all this time, right?

After Canada's talk about preservation of natural recourses (not that anyone paid attention to him), it was Russia's turn to speak. As he rose from his seat, the room's temperature went the opposite direction. All chattering died, no one daring to talk while the Russian was in such a horrid mood.

Other than the fact that everyone who fell under his gaze died a little inside, his presentation went rather smoothly. He read what he had written on his papers, was polite to those who had questions (those who were brave enough to ask them that is), and he got his point across.

The sunny blond couldn't help but feel a sting of indignation as the other deliberately passed him. Seriously, could he act any more childish?! But that didn't matter, because America had taken a seat near the exit. As soon as Russia was done, he was ready to race after him.

Today they were going to talk.

One way or another.

"Thank you for listening," the violet-eyed nation ended his explanation.

' _All right, it's chase time, Mission Impossible style!_ ' America thought.

But as he was about to get up, England tapped his shoulder.

"Alfred, about that-"

America saw his target already at the door from the corner of his eye.

"Sorry Iggy, gotta run!"

America left him mid-sentence, making the other question where he had gone wrong in raising the boy.

"Ivan!" he called out.

He could see the Russian turning a corner at the end of the hallway, and sprinted after him. He could only just avoid tipping over an expensive vase (who put that in the middle of a hallway?!), and raced through the next corridor. Russia was already in the elevator, the doors sliding shut.

"Wait!" the American shouted.

He could see those violet orbs flash towards his running figure. They were filled with pain for some reason.

The doors closed right before the young nation reached them, resulting in his face having a rather painful collision with the metal. America cursed and rubbed his nose, startled when he found blood running out of it.

' _Now is not the time to worry about your nose! The stairs- TAKE THE MOTHER FUCKING STAIRS YOU IDIOT!'_

America listened to his brain and ran down the stairs, taking five steps at the time. When he was almost at the ground floor, he jumped over the reeling, not wanting to waste any time. Russia could be seen walking towards the entrance.

"Ivan, I want to talk! Wait up!"

Russia's eyes met his for a fraction of a second.

Then the nation started running.

"WAIT! You asshole, I wanna talk!"

Ignoring the disturbed and angry looks he got from the other people in the lobby, he burst through the doors and ran outside.

Whereishewherishewherishewheris-THERE!

America didn't look before crossing the streets as he pursued his prey, jumping over cars and ignoring the claxons. Russia was not getting away this time!

Through busy streets, crossing a park, dark alleyways, even jumping into a fountain just to try and get closer to him.

America did anything, but he just couldn't catch up. He was already tired as hell, but Russia didn't even seem to break a sweat, scarf and coat not hindering him in the slightest.

Finally, the blond lost sight of him. His prey had run into a shopping mall, and when America followed him, he couldn't find him again. No indication of greyish blond hair, no scarf flapping in the wind (even though there wasn't any wind inside of the building, but you get the idea), no freakishly tall guy sticking out from the rest of the shoppers.

No Russia at all.

America collapsed on a bench, catching his breath. He had to do anything in his might not to punch the wall next to him.

' _Dammit!_ ' he thought, before burying his face in his hands.

* * *

America furiously zipped through all the channels on his television, before throwing the remote at the screen, accidently impaling it. Not that he cared.

He had a pillow clutched to his chest, and was trying his very hardest not to think about a certain nation that was acting like the biggest fucking child ever and ignoring and avoiding him like it was no big deal but it WAS, dammit!

A sob escaped his throat, catching him by surprise. When he wiped his cheek, he could feel wetness.

Huh. He hadn't even perceived he was crying. Would you look at that.

America buried his nails in the pillow, not taking notice of the ripping sounds. Waves of despair trembled through his body, and he was biting his lip not to cry out. He could already taste the blood.

' _This isn't how a hero behaves!_ ' his mind tried to soothe him, but to no avail.

America wasn't used to being given the silent treatment. Especially not by the guy he was in love with. Where had it gone wrong? Everything had been going so well, even during the kiss he'd had the feeling everything would work out, but then suddenly this. America didn't know how to cope. The only solution he could think of was confronting the other, but since that was apparently not an option, he hadn't any ideas left.

So he cried.


	39. Pretty girls aren't nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America has a little chat with Belarus.

America and Canada were walking through the hallway of their hotel.

The third day of the conference had ended, and Russia still hadn't even said hello to him. Canada, feeling his brother needed some support right now, offered to watch a film together. Since America's TV was still broken, they were currently headed for the Canadian's room.

But then suddenly, the quiet nation pulled him against the wall.

"Wha-" America began saying, but Canada covered his mouth with his hand. He put a finger to his lips, a motion for him to shut up.

And indeed, not a moment later they could hear two voices at the other end of the hallway. One that sent a shiver down America's spine, another that made his blood coil.

"Big brother, talk to me!"

An exasperated sigh.

"Why are you here Natalia?"

"I came especially for you, big brother. I only wanted to see you."

"You have seen me, now go," was the Russian's curt reply.

"Are you still angry with me?" came Belarus' trembling voice.

"To be honest with you, da. I am. Now go!"

After that, heavy footsteps distanced themselves from the corner where Canada and America were taking refuge.

So, Russia was angry with his sister huh? And he had sounded a lot less scared than last time, but that could've also been due to him being so tired all the time. Still, this was news.

Canada peeked around the corner and quickly pulled at America's arm.

"She's still there Al! Maybe she knows why Ivan's avoiding you?"

The blond didn't really feel like talking to that bitch. Canada saw the look on his face, and his own features hardened.

"Come on Alfred, man up! This may be a chance to get to talk to him again! I'll be there as moral support!"

And with that he gave the American a shove, pushing him onto the battlefield.

"Ah-uh, hey!" America called out to a retreating Belarussian.

The woman turned around and narrowed her cold blue eyes.

"And what do you want?" she hissed, venom spilling from her mouth.

"I just want to talk."

* * *

After a lot of persuasion, America managed to bring the nation to Canada's room. Canada wasn't all that happy about his room being used as a war zone, but he guessed he had to help his brother as much as he could in this one.

Belarus was standing in the middle of it, her arms crossed.

"What did you want to talk about?" she spat, eyebrows still furrowed and gaze set on ferocious.

"About your brother."

If her eyebrows would tighten any further, they might get stuck like that.

"What about him?!"

The aggression in her tone made Kumajiro growl warningly. She sent the animal a deadly glare that immediately shut it up, although the bear was still ready to attack if necessary.

America inhaled deeply. "Do you know why he's avoiding me?"

Belarus tsk-ed at him, before walking over to the wall and studying the patterns on the paper.

"If he is indeed avoiding you, than he has listened to my advice. That is good."

"What advice?" America inquired, alarmed by her words.

Belarus turned and leant against the wall, arms still crossed.

"I advised him to stay away from you, you dirty capitalist vermin!"

"Why would you do that?" Canada jumped in, confused by her words.

She tightened the grip on her arms.

"Because you want to fill my brother's head with filthy lies and delusions. You want to corrupt his soul, and I will not allow it!"

Without a warning, she suddenly pulled a knife from under her dress and leapt at the American. America tensed his muscles, ready to throw her off, but she never reached him. Kumajiro had jumped as well, meeting her mid-air, and successfully tackling the Belarussian to the ground.

"Kuma!" Canada shrieked.

America shot towards the struggling pair. If that witch would hurt a hair on his brother's pet's head, he was going to declare war on her country. America planted himself on her back and pinned her arms to the ground. Canada swiftly scooped up Kumajiro, holding the animal close to his chest. Belarus was kicking and squirming under his weight, but the sunny blond had no intention of letting go.

"Hold her legs!" he commanded, to which the Canadian immediately complied.

Belarus had absolutely nowhere to go now, so she had fallen back on cursing the living daylights out of the two brothers.

"Everything all right with Kuma?" America asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Canada nodded. "She didn't touch him. Kumajika, you're so brave!"

"Who?"

"Canada…"

America turned to the psychopath once more.

"Okay, speak up! Why did you tell Ivan to stay away from me?!"

"You will call him Russia!" Belarus growled. "Only me and sestra can call him by his first name!"

The blue-eyed nation ignored her.

"Speak up!" he growled, twisting her wrists around. The woman yelped and started cursing again.

"I don't think we're going to get much out of her…" Canada sighed.

"It was your idea Matthew!" America reminded him, frustrated by the turn of events.

But then, in between the insults, Belarus started talking again.

"I should have known you were trouble when he invited you into his house! I should have gotten rid of you then!"

America was about to retort, but Canada covered his mouth and shook his head. Belarus continued her infuriated howling.

"If I had done it then, it would not have been too late! Now you have ruined him! He is mad at me, and it is all your fault!"

America slightly loosened the grip on her wrists, noting she had stopped struggling.

"But I do not even know why he is mad at _me_ , he should be mad at _you_! I only told him the truth, you are the one who has done all the damage!"

"What truth?" America whispered.

"That you are playing with him!" she spat. "You are using him for your own desires, but I will not allow it! Big brother has confused his emotions with something he is not capable of, but I do not mind! I will love him enough for the both of us!"

The brothers were getting more confused by the minute.

"Once I figured out that you two had kissed, I knew what your intentions were! But playing with him was not enough, no, you even had to make him believe he has feelings for you!"

Time froze at that moment.

America blinked, not knowing if he'd heard her right.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I will not repeat myself!" the woman growled. "You filthy khuyesos' have made him believe he likes you, and that you like him! But I know it is not true. You have forced that idea upon him, only because you wanted to have sex with him! But I will not let anyone touch my big brother…"

America didn't listen to the rest of her ramblings, which only consisted of the woman telling them how much she loved her big strong brother.

Russia had feelings for him. And Belarus had somehow made him believe it was just America playing with the man.

He felt like leaping with joy, but also wanted to strangle the woman.

He glanced over his shoulder. Canada was smiling gleefully at him, fully understanding what was going through his mind.

Now if only they could talk, everything was going to be all right.

But first…

"Listen here."

America lowered himself towards her head, grinding the bones in her wrists together.

"I will only say this once."

He waited for her to stop cursing, alerted by the graveness of his tone.

"I never, and I mean _never_ wanted to play with his feelings. I didn't just kiss him because of my 'sexual desires'. I _love_ him."

He could hear three pairs of shocked breath-intakes.

"I would never want to hurt him in that way, you hear me? Everything was going just fine between us, and then you showed up and ruined it all. If you truly want Ivan to be happy, then you will not meddle with his personal affairs. I know you think you two will get married someday, but you'll have to see the truth. He loves you, but only as a sister."

Belarus had gone completely numb under his body, giving no sign of defiance.

"Now I am going to do anything I can to try and make him happy. I need you to let me. So-" He let go of her wrists. "What is his room number?"

The room was filled with dead air for a few moments. Canada and Kumajiro didn't even dare to breathe.

"…Room 309," she finally grumbled reluctantly.

America smiled. He got up, helping his brother stand. Belarus didn't move a muscle. Canada gave him a short hug, before he made for the door. As the nation was about to exit, he hesitated. America turned around to look at the still paralyzed woman.

"Thank you," he said.

"Do not think I will give up so easily. We are not done," the Belarussian hissed.

America chuckled.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

After that he left the room, marching over to room 309 to have a good talk with his Russian sweetheart.

Canada wasn't really happy about being left behind to deal with the homicidal lunatic, but being the hero's side-kick had its occupational hazards.

* * *

America knocked on the door, heart thumping in his throat.

This was it.

They were finally going to talk. Not that he had planned out what exactly he would say to the other, but the fact that they would talk was enough to make him nervous as hell.

He could hear sounds inside, but no one came to open the door.

America knocked again. "Ivan? You in there?"

The creaking of a mattress. No response.

America decided to be bold and pushed against the door. It gave away without the slightest resistance. He cautiously peeked his head inside.

Empty bottles and shards of glass lay scattered across the floor. The television showed some weird Spanish soap opera. The room was freezing cold, and the window was blocked out by the wooden closet. But America could still see the figure of Russia sitting on his bed.

He only had his underwear and scarf on, apparently having taken off his clothes as soon as he'd entered the room. He was hunched over, a half-full bottle of vodka still in his hand. His hair was messy and needed to be washed. It was the eyes that frightened America the most.

They were almost lifeless. His once glowing orbs were now dull, the violet toned down to be a dark blue. There wasn't even any pain in there. Just emptiness.

"Privet Amerika," he said, sending a smoke of alcohol in his direction.

"Did you know it is a lot easier for me to get drunk when I actually want to achieve it? When I completely let go?"

He took another swig of the bottle.

"I have tried so many times, but it never seemed to work. Until I just… stopped caring. That is what did the trick, you see?"

America wanted to slap him in the face. Where was the giggling overgrown psychotic kid he had grown so fond of? This man just oozed depression and self-pity. And if there was one thing the young nation couldn't stand, it was the Russian Federation pitying himself.

America closed the door behind him and hesitantly walked further into the room, carefully avoiding the glass.

"You okay there bud?" he whispered, expecting the other to break at any given moment.

Russia sent him a crooked smile. "What does it look like?"

"Yeah, stupid question. I know."

The Russian dropped the now empty bottle between its fallen brethren.

"Tell me Amerika. Why are you here?"

"Alfred," the American corrected him. He wouldn't allow their relationship to fall back to square one.

Russia shook his head. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does," America assured him. He had reached the bed, and tentatively sat down on the edge, not too close to the older nation, but not too far away either.

"I came to talk."

Russia snorted cynically. "Talking. What is there to talk about?"

"I had a chat with your sister just now."

The tall nation snorted again. He was really out of it.

"Ah, my beloved Natalia. Tell me, did she try to murder you?"

"Oooooooooh yeah."

Russia hummed thoughtfully, but didn't elaborate. America sighed.

"Just look at you. How did you let it get this far?"

"Why would you care?"

"Because I am your friend."

The Russian smiled wryly. "Well, apparently you want to be friends with benefits."

"No, Ivan- Look at me!" He gripped the other's chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"I didn't just kiss you because I wanted to do you, okay? That kiss meant something for me."

He could tell his words weren't reaching the other. The tall nation's eyes had fully glazed over, and tears started forming in the corners. He was too drunk to have any kind of conversation right now, let alone remember it the next morning.

America groaned and pulled the man to his chest.

"Don't listen to your sister… She's just jealous…"

"But she is right," came a tiny voice.

America rubbed his back.

"No she's not," he bit. "Ivan, I know you'll forget about this, but you gotta know that I _like_ you. A lot. Okay? Just… I'd never play around with you."

"That is not the issue," the voice continued.

America pried him loose to study his face.

"Then what is?" he asked.

The eyes turned to look at him, vaguely following the contours of his face.

"How could a monster like me ever understand what love is? How could I ever be happy? All I know is violence, and making people do what I want. I do not deserve to love."

America's heart was breaking at the pitiful display in front of him.

"That's a lie, and you know that."

When Russia began shaking his head, the sunny blonde dove in to cut him off with a kiss. It was just a little thing, only to confuse the other's drunken mind long enough for the American to drag him over to the other side of the bed and crawl under the covers next to him.

"Now I don't want to hear any more about that tonight. You just sleep, and maybe try to remember what I told you in the morning. And again, I meant what I said. You deserve love just as much as anyone else does."

Russia was about to open his mouth to protest, but America covered it with his own scarf.

"Sleep," he commanded.

The American stroked the other's hair, waiting for him to lose consciousness. He really wanted to go kick some Belarussian butt right now.

As soon as Russia was sound asleep, he got out of the bed again. He picked up the empty bottles and dropped them all in a trashcan. He scribbled a little note, kissed Russia on top of his head, turned off the light switch and left the room. There would be plenty of time to have a real conversation tomorrow.

* * *

As Russia awoke the next morning, he was feeling refreshed. His heart didn't hurt as much, and he had actually gotten some sleep. For some reason, he felt a little less troubled as well.

As he stretched his muscles, he saw the note.

_Everybody deserves love._


	40. Starting over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America convinces Russia to come to L.A. with him.

Today there weren't any presentations planned, so most of the nations went out to go do some sightseeing.

Russia had wanted to stay in his room and drink and watch TV all day after a warm bath, but at a quarter past twelve somebody knocked on his door.

When he went to open it no one was outside. Was it a prank? Russia wanted to get mad, but he simply wasn't in the mood.

He was about to close the door again when he saw a sunflower seed lying on the ground. Curious, the nation bent over to pick it up.

Now who put a perfectly good seed like that in a place like this?

It was then that he noticed another seed lying down the corridor. As he walked over to pick that one up, he saw another one further up ahead.

Aha, it was a trail! Since the Russian didn't really have any plans today, he figured he might as well follow the trail.

The seeds led him outside of the hotel, across the streets, through a park (who had taken the time to create this trail?), and finally went inside again.

Russia came to a halt in front of a pair of booted feet. He slowly let his gaze wander up, to meet blue eyes hidden behind glasses that weren't exactly the colour of the sky, but also not the colour of the ocean. Russia blinked, and the other pair of eyes blinked as well. The tall nation looked around, noting they were in a classy restaurant. Good thing he had already taken that bath.

"Hey," America said, smiling timidly.

"Hello," Russia answered, not really knowing what else to say.

America made a movement with his head. "Let's sit down."

Russia lethargically followed him to a table in the back of the establishment. He was too surprised by the other's sudden appearance (and a bit curious) to try and run away again. Russia kept staring at him as they both sat down.

"You can order whatever you want. It's on me."

His violet spheres shot to the menu card, and then back up.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"I simply want to talk. Now pick something before the waiter gets here."

Russia obeyed. His heart wasn't throbbing painfully yet, memories of the talk with Belarus pushed to the back of his head for the moment. He might as well see what America wanted to discuss.

They both ordered a steak and some water, the blond not letting his companion touch another glass of alcohol while they were here.

The silence dragged on. Russia was about to comment on it when the American opened his mouth.

"Let's start over."

Russia curiously tilted his head.

"What do you mean?"

America swallowed, nervously folding and unfolding his hands.

He had to bring this very carefully. He didn't know how much the Russian remembered of last night. And a part of him wanted the other to realize his feelings on his own, so he wouldn't allow himself to linger on that for too long. He just wanted him back into his life. No more ignoring and avoiding. And he wanted to tell the other how much he liked him. But not now. He didn't want to overwhelm the tall nation with too much information. If all went well today, he would have a chance to tell him the day after tomorrow.

"I want… I want us to pretend last week didn't happen."

Russia stiffened, but America gestured for the other to wait and let him explain himself.

"What I mean by that is, I want to go back to the time you talked to me. Told me what's bothering you. I know you didn't do that all the time, but now… Well, you know what I mean."

Russia relaxed again. This he could understand. This wasn't too dangerous for his heart.

"Also, I talked to Belarus. And I want you to forget whatever she said."

Russia leered at him, calculating how much he knew. Seeing his aloof behaviour, he assumed it couldn't be that much. If America knew everything his sister had said to him, he either wouldn't be here, or he wouldn't be so composed. There was no reason for him to be here if he knew everything.

America didn't give him enough time to further gather his thoughts.

"I really want to take you to the sunflowers, you know. I promised you. And I'm not going back on that promise."

Ah, so that was it. The only reason America was here was because he was a man of his word. Russia didn't know if he should feel relieved or disappointed. He didn't know anything about how he should feel lately. It was all one big mess. That was why he preferred the emptiness. At least he didn't have to waste any time trying to understand that.

"So, what do you say? Come to L.A. with me after the meeting's done?"

How could he resist those puppy eyes? He had already fallen for them a couple of times before now.

He smiled superficially. "Da. It is a deal."

America grinned his hundred watt smile, shaking his hand enthusiastically. Russia couldn't help but chuckle, although it sounded a bit hollow.

Maybe they could stay friends after all. Weren't they perfectly fine being just that? Before Russia had made himself believe he was… that which shall not be named, he had actually felt genuinely happy. Or at least something akin to happiness. He would just have to take care not to kiss him again, and further confuse himself. And those dark thoughts that Belarus had planted in his head could be pushed to the back of his mind. He had done that with plenty of other emotions as well, he could do it again. Shut them away and destroy the key.

Being friends did sound nice. But would it be able to chase away the hurt?

During the remainder of lunch they had idle chitchat, trying to re-establish the bond they had before the past week, not touching on any heavy subjects. Trying to get to know each other all over again, and get rid of that looming shadow that was hiding around every corner, trying to catch them off guard.

After lunch they paid a visit to the Louvre. America wanted to go because he had seen it in _The Da Vinci Code,_ and Russia because he simply liked art. A visit to the Eiffel Tower was also on their list, although they didn't go to the top because there were just too many tourists. After a walk along the Seine and some ice cream, it was time to go back to the hotel.

America wanted to give the older nation a goodnight kiss, but he resisted the urge, trying not to startle the other. If his plan went as he hoped it would, he would have all the time in the world to do that in the City of Angels.

* * *

Russia sat on his bed, blindly staring out into the room.

Why was America doing this? Did he just want to keep his promise, or did he really want to be friends? But how was that even possible? Russia wasn't a very likeable person. He knew that, and his sister had done a great job in reminding him. How could anyone want to be friends with him?

He didn't want to feel anymore. Feeling means you can end up hurting, and it was too confusing either way. The Russian grabbed a bottle of vodka and brought it to his lips, not even taking notice of the automatic action.

No. He would close his heart up. Whatever were to happen in California, he wasn't going to allow himself any hope that he could be normal, that he could have fun the same way anyone else did.

He had lost his heart so many times before. It wasn't worth it for that to happen again.

He didn't deserve true happiness, so better not to try and achieve it.

* * *

The two nations entered America's apartment in Los Angeles the day after the World Conference had ended. It wasn't the biggest apartment around, but it would do.

"Want some coffee or something?" the smaller nation asked, throwing their bags on the couch.

"Nyet. I still have some vodka."

America shot him a warning glance. "You're not gonna start drinking like crazy again, are you?"

Russia tilted his head in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"I could smell it on you," he quickly lied. It seemed the Russian had forgotten all about the visit to his hotel room three nights ago.

Russia nodded. "Do you mind if I take a quick shower before we go?"

"Sure big guy. We'll go after lunch, that sound good with you?"

"Da." And then he left for the bathroom.

America followed him with his eyes. He could tell the Slavic nation wasn't back to his good ol' self yet. His amethyst spheres didn't twinkle with delight, his smile wasn't the genuine one the sunny blonde had seen so many times now. America hated seeing him like this. So reserved, so taken aback, carefully dancing around conversations that weren't light and easy. He really wanted to teach Belarus a lesson for making her brother so miserable. And then that bullshit about him not being able to love. Ridiculous.

He exchanged his current clothes for a pair of jeans, a white shirt and his favourite bomber jacket. Sunflower watching didn't require anything chic, but he didn't want to look as if he'd just stepped out of bed either.

His plans for today had to work out, they simply had to. Not only for himself, but because he wanted to make Russia smile again.

After a mug of coffee, a quick email to his boss and Tony and a text message to Japan, Russia merged from the bathroom. His hair was silvery again and he smelt heavenly good of pine tree shampoo. Now all that he needed was for his eyes to regain that mysterious glow.

They ate a quick lunch, after which America stood up and extended his arm.

"Shall we then?" he asked.

Russia smiled that non-real smile again, but his eyes did show a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of seeing his precious sunflowers.

He took the arm that America offered him, and together they stepped out into the sunlight.


	41. Sunflower Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to fulfil that promise.

Sunflowers everywhere.

Brown hearts surrounded by yellow crowns, held high in the sky by vivid green stems. Tiny ones, big ones, ones that reached up to the chin and even higher. All climbing to the sun god, trying to get as close to their source of energy as possible.

Russia felt at home between these images of perfection. He had taken off his gloves to caress the petals, gently, as not to disturb the flowers. He pretended them to be nuzzling against his hand, enjoying his touch. Russia bent forward with closed eyes, nose sniffing up the fresh air.

Yes, he was very happy the American had brought him here. Speaking of the American.

Russia opened his eyes again and turned to his right. His companion had been looking at him for a while now, blue orbs following his every movement. Russia thought he would feel uncomfortable under the staring, but he couldn't be more at ease right now. Being amongst his friends washed away his worries, sent him into a peaceful state of mind. And it was bliss, for as long as it lasted.

After paying a visit to each and every one of the flowers, he went to sit by a blossoming cherry tree in the middle of the greenhouse. It was more of a villa to be frank, only without stairs and with glass walls. It was just so enormous.

America appeared by his side with a beauty of a sunflower.

"Found this on the ground. Someone must have pulled it out or something."

Russia tsk-ed, his eyes darkening at the mere thought of such blasphemy. America handed him the flower, and he instantly cradled it like a new-born, cooing at it and trying to make it feel safe in his arms. The young nation sat down next to him, staring off into the distance.

"Spasiba Alfred. I am truly thankful that you have brought me here."

America shrugged. "No biggie. I'm glad you like it."

"Da. Very much."

America let the other enjoy the scenery a bit more before he spoke up again.

Time to start talking.

"Hey Ivan, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you ever read that note?"

The Russian looked up, puzzled. "What note are you referring to?"

"I left a note for you on your night stand."

Russia's eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfect round "Oh". He quickly composed himself, going back to playing with his sunflower. A tiny nod told the American he could continue.

"I meant what I said in that note."

Russia lightly furrowed his brows. He did not like where this conversation was going.

America turned to face him, but the Russian kept looking at the ground.

"I really did. Everyone can fall in love."

Violet eyes shot to him for not even a second, before going back to the flower. The crease between his eyebrows grew larger.

"You can too."

The sound of something snapping. They both looked down to find the stem of the sunflower broken in half. Russia ran a finger over the crack, expression mournful.

"How would you know?" came his whispered voice. "You have not seen what I have done. You are too young to understand. You might think you know me, but you do not. I am a monster."

"You're not-"

"Da. I am. Where do you think I got those scars? Why do you think the other nations are afraid of me? They have every right to be."

"You're not a monster!" America growled.

Russia pursed his lips, but the stubborn frown told America he didn't believe him.

"Yes, you may have done a lot of terrible things. Don't think I don't know that. But that's in the past, right? You have to leave the past behind you, Ivan. Live in the present. And in the present, I think you are very much capable of loving."

Russia shook his head. "Nyet. I do not even know what love is. How could I be capable of loving then? No one would ever love a man like me."

The smaller nation sighed, exasperated.

"Well, then that must mean I'm crazy."

Russia paused at his words. "Sorry?"

"You heard me right. I'm crazy." America put on a tiny smile. "Because I _do_ like you. In a romantic way."

The Russian blinked. He turned his head, now looking at the other.

"You… like me?"

America bashfully twiddled his thumbs. He nodded.

"I have for quite some time now."

Russia blinked again. Then his eyes shot back to the sunflower.

"You are lying."

"Vanya, why do you think I would lie about something like that? I'm being serious here!"

He was using nicknames again.

"Because you pity me," Russia mumbled, as if talking to the flower and not to the younger nation.

The roaring laughter that erupted from the American took him by surprise.

"I pity you? And you fucking believe that? You're the Russian Federation for Christ's sake! I have nothing but the greatest respect for you! Yeah sure, I hated you too at some point, but that doesn't mean I didn't think you were any less of a worthy opponent! I have never, not once in my entire life, thought you were pitiful."

Not until his sister broke him that is. But even then, the feeling of anger and the need to make the other smile again were far stronger.

The sunny blond grew serious once more.

"No. I like you. As in, you are more than a friend to me. Much more."

They both turned a bit pink at his straight-forwardness. Russia kept playing with the petals, now pulling them out one by one. The flower was dead anyway, it wouldn't feel any pain.

"Nyet… There is nothing to like about me…"

"Aargh, you really gonna make me say soppy girly shit? Fine. I like you because I can trust you, rely on you, because I know you always keep your promises to me. Because we can talk for hours without getting fed up, because you listen to every goddamn single thing I say. I feel at ease around you. And you also don't care that I like fast-food as much as I do, or that I'd rather play videogames than do my job. I just… like you, okay? For a million reasons. And you're also fucking gorgeous – don't try to deny it! You're seriously way too cute for a guy your size, don't know how you do it, but you are. You're just… Amazing. And I want to be with you. I want for you to feel good. I want to try and make you happy, if you'd just let me."

All of the petals were gone, the flower laid down to rest on its grassy grave.

"Then I guess you _are_ crazy," the violet-eyed nation said. He didn't know if he actually meant that or if it was a joke. Maybe a bit of both.

"So how do you feel about me?" America asked, now a bit more hesitant.

Russia buried his nose in his scarf. "I already told you. I do not know what love is."

"That's not what I said," the younger nation interrupted. "I asked you how you feel about me. As in, start describing buddy."

Russia didn't really understand the question. "Describing…?"

"Uh huh. Just, describe what you feel whenever you're around me. I'll help you figure it out."

Oh, that way. Okay then.

Russia took in a deep breath and began. He didn't really think this would get them somewhere, but who knows? Maybe it would help clear out the confusion. Maybe America had a better explanation for the odd behaviour of his heart. Who knows.

"I feel good when you are having fun. It does not even matter if I am having fun too. It just… feels right to see you laugh."

Russia stole a glance, wanting to know if this was what the other meant by describing. America nodded, motioning for him to continue.

"I get this weird feeling of possessiveness every time you mention having a good time with other nations. It makes me want to hurt them, even when they have done nothing wrong."

America slowly started inching closer, movements too small for the Russian to catch. He was too engrossed in his own explanation.

"I get this funny feeling in my heart when I think of you. As if it could pop out on me again, but it does not do that. And sometimes it hurts. My heart hurts whenever you are in pain, physically or mentally."

"That does sound grave," the blond commented.

Russia turned his head. The American had gotten considerably closer since the last time he had looked at him.

"It does?" he asked, a little worried.

"Yes. But please, don't mind me. Just go on."

Russia nodded, but kept one eye on the other as he spoke again.

"I constantly want to know more about you. About what you like, and who you are in general. Of course, I already know you, but I want to know every little thing there is to know. And I want to tell you about me too. Which is strange, because normally I would rather keep things to myself."

America had grabbed his hand, and was squeezing it encouragingly.

"I want to give you gifts. I want to see you smile. I want to make you happy."

America was now stroking the back of his hand with his thumb, drawing lazy circles. Russia's blush increased.

"And that. I like it when you touch me."

America paused for a moment. His eyes locked with the other's before he began moving his thumb again.

"Is that right? How?"

Russia blinked sheepishly. "Like what you are doing now. Or hugging. And cuddling. I like cuddling."

America's thigh was touching his now. When had he gotten so close? Russia's heart was making those weird little flops again. He demanded an explanation for that, right now.

"And I sometimes have the urge to kiss you."

America was smiling that beautiful toothpaste-commercial smile of his again. And his orbs were sparkling, seeming even bluer than normal.

"Well then. Let me give you my diagnosis now."

The tall nation felt a nervous chuckle escape his mouth. America was rather close, wasn't he?

"What is the verdict doctor Jones?" he whispered, heart speeding up even more as the American got just a tad closer. He liked how those bluish dots studied him.

"I'm very sorry to tell you this Vanya. But everything you described? It can only mean one thing."

"What is that Fedya?" the violet-eyed nation breathed, bashfully pulling up his scarf to hide his growing blush. America was doing some _very_ interesting things with his hand now. He even lifted it up to press a peck on the knuckles with those plump, rosy lips of his, before uttering the next sentence.

"All the signs point to love."

Love? Hadn't he already dismissed that option? Hadn't Belarus made it perfectly clear that his feelings couldn't possibly be those of love?

And hadn't he promised himself not to be swept away a second time, not to be fooled?

But when he felt a hand going through his hair, tugging at his scarf, and those angelic eyes moving even closer, he could only think of one thing.

' _I want to kiss him.'_

So he finally pulled down his scarf and planted his lips on top of the other's.

This time, neither of them froze. They instinctively closed their eyes and leant into the kiss, savouring every moment of it.

It wasn't a passionate kiss. But God, it was perfect.

Russia felt his heart thunder in his chest, that bittersweet feeling of want spreading through his veins once more. He wished with all his being the American was telling the truth, that what they felt was love after all.

That America saw him as a man, not a monster. Perhaps not even a nation.

When they pulled away, the young American repeated his previous statement.

"I really like you. So won't you like me too?"

He pressed a kiss to Russia's jaw, following the line with his nose. Russia hummed contently, overwhelmed by the sudden warmth that spread through his entire being.

"Da, Fedya. I would like to like you very much."

America giggled. "So what, are we a couple now?"

Russia went even redder. "I-if you want to…"

America lifted his head to look the other in the eyes again. "Yes. I want that. Very much."

"Know that I will probably not be easy to be with," Russia reminded him, still not believing this could be happening. "I know absolutely nothing about relationships, I can be rather violent, I get jealous easily, I am mentally and emotionally unstable, and I _will_ fold your underwear."

America grinned excitedly. "Sounds perfectly swell to me. I'll teach you. Just not the underwear part, that's a bit weird."

Russia giggled some more.

They sat like that for quite a while, mapping out each other's facial features with curious eyes, hands caressing smooth skin, overcome by pure awe for the other, waiting for the sun to set before Russia pulled the American in for a second kiss.

If this was love, then it was a drug he'd gladly get addicted to.

* * *

A few kisses later they had gotten a lot rougher. Forcing their tongues into each other's mouth, tasting and testing the other's strength. Russia let his hands trail the American's body, not really minding where they were going. His mind was a bit dazed, still overwhelmed by everything that had happened today.

Bedazzled by how quick it had pushed away the dark thoughts. They weren't completely gone, but he was willing to resist them now.

A sudden moan surprised him. His one hand had been going through America's hair, and was currently twirling that little spring on top of his head around a finger.

"Are you sensitive here?" Russia asked in an interested tone, tugging at the cowlick again.

When he felt America's body jerk and twitch beneath him, he knew the answer.

"Please let go of Nantucket," the nation panted.

Russia snorted and did as he was told. "You call it Nantucket?"

America nodded. "Yeah. Please don't ask why. And don't ask about Florida either."

"What is-"

Russia saw the bulge in America's pants. He blinked at it, and then went even redder than he already was, if that was still possible.

"Oh," he stated.

"Don't look at me like that," America growled.

The older nation looked up and was about to apologize, but then he saw the spark in the other's eyes.

They were blazing with hunger.

America had waited so long to make the Russian his.

Now he had finally run out of patience.

"Let us go home now, da?" the violet-eyed nation innocently proposed.

He did not want his precious sunflowers to witness one of their biggest admirers in such a… passionate state.

America nodded and quickly pulled him up, racing home as fast as possible. The taller nation actually had to take bigger strides to keep up, surprised by the fervour in the other's step.

As soon as they were in the apartment, Russia hugged his little sunflower from behind. Right now, all the Russian wanted to do was touch him more, be as close as possible to him.

America was thinking something along the same lines, only a little less prude. He yanked the other to come with him, not at all unpleased by how the older nation kept holding onto him, trying to nuzzle in his hair. He almost kicked down his bedroom door, rushing to get there while wasting as little time as possible. Then he pried himself loose, earning a whine from the Russian. The whine was cut off as he spun around and took off the other's trench coat, getting out of his own jacket along the way. He pulled Russia towards the bed and pushed him down, immediately following to proceed with the kissing.

The Russian didn't mind at all. He was quickly growing familiar with the sensations that making-out brought upon his body, and he found he liked it a whole lot. He kicked off his boots while his hands were busy, stroking the other's back and feeling strong muscles through the shirt.

It wasn't until America started rubbing their crotches together that Russia became fully aware of what was going to happen.

With a sudden movement he flipped the American onto his back and started kissing his neck.

"What are you doing?" the younger nation yelped.

"I am bigger, so I should be on top," Russia stated, a childishly pleased expression on his face.

"How do you know that?!"

Russia glanced down. "I am certain. Yes, definitely bigger."

But America wasn't going to give up without a fight. They started tossing about, rolling over the surface of the bed, fighting for dominance. Russia was giggling with glee, enjoying this little wrestling match very much. Of course, he landed on top again.

America crossed his arms defiantly. "Fine! Then show me what you got!"

But then it dawned upon the Russian.

He hadn't done it for over 200 years.

On top of that, his first time had been with a woman, _and_ he had been mostly passive during the whole ordeal.

Shyness overtook him as he looked at the body lying beneath him. He knew what to do, but could he put it into practice?

"I'm waiting _big_ guy." Notice the emphasis on big. Ha ha ha.

This was a dilemma. Russia was too proud to bottom, but too timid to top. What to do…

He was pulled back to reality by a hand on his cheek.

"Hey Vanya, everything okay up there?"

The Russian said nothing as the blush spread to his ears. He was too embarrassed to let the other know of his struggle.

Realization shot over the younger nation's face.

"Vanya, are you a virgin?"

Russia's eyes went wide, his eyebrows shooting up to the heavens and beyond. Then he scowled.

"I must inform you that I am not."

"Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Russia gulped and started pulling the other's shirt off, as if proving to himself that he could do this if he wanted to. America raised his arms to help him complete the task. Then the Russian's hands went to his pants. They hovered over the zipper, trembling with timid nervousness.

That was when America caught him by surprise and flipped him over.

"Hey!" the ashen blond cried.

America was looking down at him, hooded eyes glimmering in the half-dark state of the room.

"Tell me Vanya. Exactly how many times have you done it before?"

Russia wanted to lie. He was older, so he was supposed to be more experienced. And on top of that, the pride of the Russian Federation was at stake!

…But he couldn't.

"Once," he whispered, before burying his face in his scarf and clamping his eyes shut, overcome by bashfulness.

The American's reaction wasn't one of ridicule however.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of Vanya. Just let _me_ do the work instead."

Russia hesitantly opened one eye. America couldn't help but find his embarrassment beyond captivating.

He quickly took off the other's shirt before he could protest. There it was again, that pale, toned chest of his. Muscular, sturdy, soft around his stomach, but most certainly not fat. A couple of scars zigzagging across the surface, a piece of art waiting to be explored. How he had longed to touch him, even dreamt of it.

"But- but-," Russia stammered, still not sure what to do with this predicament.

But then America put a hand down his pants and touched his crotch through the fabric of his boxers.

Immediately, Russia's mind went haywire. Memories of his first time, feelings of shame and embarrassment, it all flooded him and made him tense up, squeezing both his eyes and mouth shut with as much force as he could muster, something akin to a frightened squeal escaping his throat.

America watched his reaction with interest. Then he said in a soft tone: "Hey, if you don't want to, we can wait." He tried not to sound needy or disappointed, knowing his desires weren't the most important in this situation.

Russia re-opened his purple spheres. Oh, this was certainly a dilemma. Yes, he was shy, but he still had his pride and was also very much aroused…

Whattodowhattodowhattodowhattodo…

America came with the solution.

"Or you can let me do _something_. I mean, we won't go all the way, but I think you need this here to be taken care of." He rubbed Russia's erection again, earning him a shiver.

"I promise I'll be gentle. And if we're gonna be, you know, _together_ , then we'll have plenty of time to practise after today. What do you say?"

Russia mulled it over for a bit before replying with a quick nod.

Yes. If they weren't going to go all the way, his pride wouldn't be blemished, and his little (or not so little) problem would be taken care of. Russia liked the sound of that.

He shyly stared down at himself when America took off his pants. The American stole a quick glance at the obviously huge erection, but decided not to let the size bother him (for now). It wouldn't do to make the Russian feel any more uncomfortable than he already was. He was the hero, not some scaredy-cat.

America bent over and tugged at Russia's scarf.

"Does it have to come off?" the tall nation asked in a small, insecure voice, hating himself for sounding so weak.

America smiled reassuringly. "I want to make you feel real good. And I think your neck could be a great help with that."

The scarf was discarded, and now Russia was almost fully naked. Violet jewels followed the other's movements. America's smile was dazzling, and the anticipation made his heart speed up. Good thing he was lying on his back, in case the vital organ would try to escape again. That would be a real bummer. And probably a mood-kill as well.

America lowered his head and started licking at Russia's neck.

It didn't take long for the Russian to begin whimpering and quivering, body shaking with pleasure. The way America alternated between short licks and long strokes, sometimes only the tip and then his entire tongue, it was in a word… stimulating.

Each buzz was sent straight down, making his cock now stand fully erect against his boxers. Russia wrapped his arms around the other and began stroking his back, not wanting to stay completely passive. He wasn't a blushing bride, after all.

A complaint welled up when America removed himself from his neck. But it was never voiced as the nation moved down and pulled off his underwear. Russia flushed at seeing himself like that. But even more so at the way the younger nation was studying his vital regions.

Instead of going straight for his arousal, America started playing around. First, he rubbed his thumbs against Russia's inner thighs, quite content with the way his breathing sped up. Then he slowly licked the sensitive skin below his navel, before playfully moving down, and almost immediately back up. Yes, America wasn't a very patient nation, but he knew damn well how to give a good time, and right now that would be accomplished by not rushing things.

The American teasingly nipped at the base of his manhood, earning him a slightly stifled moan.

"Don't hold back your voice Vanya. No one can hear us."

He let his index finger trail along the shaft, rubbed it against the sensitive tip, and then gripped the entire length, before almost instantly letting go again. He was experimenting with the sounds he could coax out of the tall nation, loving each and every one of them. A touch meant a little whimper. A rub was a mewl. A lick or a bite was a full-out moan, combined with a quiver. And he hadn't even tried sucking yet. America really wanted to do him, but again: patience was necessary to gain the highest amount of pleasure this time around. It was something England had taught him (only it was more something along the lines of "If you don't eat that cookie now, dinner will taste all the better," or somethin' like that).

America breathed out heavily, making Russia's manhood twitch.

"A-ah, little one… Could you stop the teasing?" sounded a heavily accented voice.

America looked up.

Those eyes.

Those lovely, mysterious, beautiful eyes.

They had found their shine again, only it was all the more intense now. They were dark and glowing, hellish orbs begging him to finish what he'd started.

America shuddered.

He bent down again, and took him in without hesitating.

At first only the tip, letting his mouth get used to having something occupying it. He let his tongue slide over the head, earning him a gasp this time. Then he began taking his length in further, tongue sliding over the underside, careful not to bite him. Russia was digging his fingers in the mattress, holding himself back from bucking up into the warmth of America's mouth.

The American hummed, sending another wave of pleasure straight to his groin. Russia groaned and tilted his head to the side, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead.

So apparently the cold nation _could_ get hot. Good to know.

America began slowly bobbing his head up and down, taking care not to move too fast. He wanted this to last as long as possible, wanted to give the Russian, _his_ Russian, the time of his life. One hand was holding down the other's hips in case he couldn't hold himself back. Very soon, Russia was panting and trembling, chest heaving and a trail of drool leaking out of his mouth.

"Fed-ah-plea-hah… Go fast-ah…"

Russia had never felt this good before. Yes, he wasn't a virgin, but his first time was absolutely nothing compared to this. Masturbating definitely couldn't parallel it either.

America's lips twitched up in a smile at hearing that sweet voice begging, so he did as asked. He sped up his movements, occasionally pulling off to lick and nip at the head, before immediately diving back down and taking him in in one smooth swoop (or at least the part he could fit in his mouth, he used his free hand to pump at the base). Russia almost tore through the mattress, legs trembling and feeling limp and useless, entire being focussed on letting go.

With one final lick, Russia was sent over the top. He cried out, whole body going tense, before snapping taut after being relieved from the built-up pressure. America quickly retracted, not really the type to “swallow his lover's cum while looking all cool and composed.” He didn't mind his sheets getting dirty. Ooooooh, and maybe they could take a shower together after this?

Russia was looking at the ceiling, without really seeing it. This experience was without a doubt a lot better than his previous time.

"Feel good?" America asked. The question was obviously quite redundant.

Russia yanked him up in a swift movement, capturing his lips in a chaste kiss.

"Very good," he sighed, licking along the other's jawline.

His eyes wandered down.

"And what about you?"

America stammered. "Yeah, that's fine. I'll do it myself. In fact, I was planning on taking a shower anyway-"

Russia sent him a coy smile.

"Want to take a shower together?"

This time it was America blushing. Could that guy read minds or something?

So that was why the sunny blond was now standing under the shower, back towards the entrance, waiting for the other to join him. He was still very excited, but now that he was naked, he was also a tad nervous. A good kind of nervous, but still.

He jumped when two arms wrapped themselves around his waist. He hadn't even noticed the other getting in.

"What to do about this~" Russia hummed happily, as he boldly wrapped one hand around America's erection.

"I-I thought you were all shy and stuff?" the young nation yelped, not having expected this at all.

"I can at least do this much after what you did for me," came Russia's husky voice, before he slowly licked Nantucket and started pumping.

America would never admit it, but he came a bit too fast at the Russian's actions.

"Now Alfred, there is nothing to be ashamed of," Russia said, throwing his own words back at him.

America was sulking in the corner of the shower, wallowing in humiliation.

Russia giggled joyfully. "This only proves that I am naturally good at this~"

America flipped him off before turning back to stare at the wall.

The Russian pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Please do not pout. It was cute, da?"

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not cute?!"

Russia stroked his hair lovingly. "As many times as I get to call you that."

America remained silent for a few seconds, before turning around and embracing the tall nation.

"Fine, but only you can call me that."

Russia chuckled darkly. "If anyone else does, I will punish them thoroughly."

America shuddered. "Has anyone ever told you that you sound really sexy when you're angry?"

The tall nation became childishly timid again at his words.

"I do?"

"Hmm~"

They stayed like that for a long time, finding comfort in each other's warmth.

Yes, their relationship would definitely prove to be something interesting.


	42. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and Russia's 'real' first time.

Russia was staring wide-eyed at his laptop, ears a nice shade of pink.

What was he doing, you ask?

…Research.

The tall nation had finally decided upon getting over his shyness and properly investigate the act of sexual intercourse between two men. The results were interesting.

Russia squirmed around uncomfortably on the couch. Sex between men was apparently a lot different from sex between a man and a woman. Well duh, of course it was, but the Russian had never expected there to be so much preparing to do each time. Or at least, that's what the Internet told him.

The scientific terminology did nothing to stop his body from giving certain reactions. Russia wanted to drop his laptop and hide in a closet somewhere, but he also wanted to know more. He was the Russian Federation, dammit! He shouldn't be afraid of something as basic as sex!

But truth be told, he was.

He wasn't scared to show his body. After all, America had already seen it. No, it wasn't the blue-eyed nation that frightened him.

It was himself.

What if he would do something wrong, and America would laugh at him or get fed up with him? What if he made a complete and utter fool out of himself? Or what if he would lose control, and somehow hurt his lover? Would the young nation start looking at him as a monster too? And what if he was really bad at it? What if America would leave him?

What if by completely surrendering to primitive needs, he would somehow lose that final piece of himself that kept him from going completely insane, would somehow release the violent beast that he always kept safely locked away in the back of his mind?

What if…

There was too much to worry about. The Russian truly wanted to be with the other, indulge in feelings and sensations, bask in absolute trust and devotion.

But he couldn't. Not yet at least. Not before discovering his own limits and strengths, before jumping the hurdle. Only, to do that, he had to give in. It was a vicious circle.

A circle that was about to end.

"Hey big guy, what ya doin'?"

Russia yelped in surprise as he quickly slammed his laptop shut. The American was leaning over the back of the couch, eyebrows raised in question and electric blue orbs studying the other curiously.

"N-nothing," Russia lied not-so-smoothly.

America snorted. "Come on, you can tell me."

He tried to grab the piece of electronics, but the older nation swiftly hid it behind his back.

America frowned.

"Show me."

"Nyet."

America tried to snatch the laptop away, but Russia was able to hold it just out of reach. The blonde pursued, but the other could outsmart him every single time.

"Come ooooooooooon Vanya! It's not like you were watching porn or anything!"

At this Russia's face flushed, and he squeezed his legs together, remembering his still-present boner.

The actions did not went by unnoticed.

"Wait- You _were_ watching porn?"

"Nyet!"

Before the Russian could protest, America pulled his legs apart, making the bulge in his pants clear for anyone to see.

The blond clacked his tongue, feigning being cool and composed.

"Chya, this doesn't seem like a 'nyet' to me big guy."

Russia made the mistake of closing his eyes for the tiniest of seconds. In a flash, the American grabbed the laptop out of his hands.

They struggled some more after that, the tall nation trying to get the laptop back, America trying to look at its contents.

Finally, the blond was able to pin the older nation down by straddling his hips. He held the black square triumphantly above his head, as if having won a contest or something. Russia hid his entire face in his scarf when America opened up the object.

The blond's goofy grin rapidly made place for a shocked expression, and then a fierce blush.

"Oh."

He looked down at the other, heart thumping against his ribs.

"Um, why are you looking at stuff like this?"

"Research," came Russia's squeaking voice.

America nodded, staring off into the distance. He then placed the laptop on the ground and lowered himself towards Russia's head.

"Why do you need websites for that? Why not ask me instead?" came his gentle voice, although it was underlined by a hint of excitement. Hey, he'd just found out his boyfriend had been looking at articles about guys doing it. That was enough stimulation for him.

"Because it is embarrassing."

America frowned.

"Is this about the fact that you've only done it once again? Because I already told you that's nothing to be ashamed about. I'm perfectly willing to teach you all you need to know."

Violet came peeking over the edge of the scarf, an insecure look accompanying it.

"You will laugh at me."

"Will not."

"You might hurt me."

"I promise I won't."

"Or I you."

"You won't."

"I will disgust you."

"No, you won't!" the blonde growled.

He placed a loving kiss on the tip of Russia's nose.

"Vanya. Even if you were indeed a virgin, or if you'd slept with a hundred other people- It doesn't matter. All I see is a guy I really like, and to whom I want to be as close as possible. The fact that I want to do it with you means I'm not disgusted by you, I think you're pretty darn hot, and I don't find you laughable at all. And I'll be real careful not to hurt you. So won't you trust me?"

He bent over to whisper in the other's ear.

"I want to make love to you Ivan."

His hushed words sent a shiver down the Russian's spine. 'Make love' sounded so much more sexy than 'fuck'. Russia wanted to be loved, desired it with his entire being.

Maybe he could give it a try.

The sunny blond started when he felt a hand caressing the side of his head, intertwining fingers with soft hair. The Russian slowly pulled him down until their noses were touching, all the while never breaking eye contact. He placed a kiss on the other's mouth, hesitantly tracing lips with his tongue.

It was all the consent America needed.

The blond broke from the kiss to smile at the tall nation.

"I'll be gentle. If I do something you don't like, just say so. I want you to enjoy this as much as possible."

A quick nod told him he could continue. America lowered himself once more for a second kiss, this time with tongue. He went as slow as possible, making sensual movements with the muscle while stroking his jawline, fingers dancing dangerously close to his sensitive neck.

Russia let out a small sigh and wrapped his arms around the smaller nation, decided on letting go. He just wanted to feel, lose himself in the moment.

America dug his fingers under the scarf, listening to a needy moan. The other hand crept down, going for the nation's crotch. Russia gasped when America went straight for his erection, hand boldly gliding under his pants and briefs and wrapping itself around his length.

"A-ah, Fedya…" he whispered, closing his eyes and focussing on the sensations. He dug his fingers into the other's back, eyebrows scrunched together. He chewed on his lower lip, tasting blood.

America lazily moved his hand up and down, up and down, blue eyes clouded over with lust. The sounds his lover made were getting him very excited, and he kept repeating to himself that he had to take it slow this time.

"So, did you find anything interesting?"

"Hm?" came Russia's absentminded voice. It took him longer than usual to make sense of the other's words.

"Those articles you were reading. Did you find what you need?"

Violet eyes opened, looking very displeased. The blush on his cheeks only increased, and his mouth formed a straight, disapproving line. The ashen blonde didn't look like he was going to give an answer to that question.

But that was just fine by him, he had time. So, he slowed down to a snail's pace.

Russia groaned and whimpered, boldly trying to buck up for renewed friction, but America kept him pinned to the couch. He growled.

"Fine, I did not! Well, it gave me some information, but – ah! (America was now rubbing the tip of his cock as a reward) – not everything."

"Oh?" the blue-eyed nation smirked. "What do you want to know then? Tell me."

Russia was about to retort when America retracted his hands and unbuttoned the other's shirt, letting his fingers wander over pale skin. The Russian was liking this new feeling of touch a lot. His manhood was throbbing expectantly, and carnal instincts were fighting their way through his veins, trying to defeat the timidity.

He swallowed heavily and took the last step needed.

"They say nothing about what it feels like. I want to know."

He looked the other dead in the eye.

"Show me."

America needn't be told twice.

He instantly left to get some lube, telling the Russian to get undressed while awaiting his return. Russia did as told, not entirely comfortable with his state of undress, but willing to make the sacrifice.

When America returned with a bottle of lotion, he was stripped down to his boxers. Russia pouted a bit at being the only one fully naked, but immediately stopped when the younger nation placed himself between his legs.

"I'll do it this time," he warned, covering his fingers in the lubricant and rubbing them together to get it warm.

"Maybe next time you can try."

He smirked as he started to spread the tall nation's legs apart.

"Maybe."

He then began pushing in, moving as slow as possible, stopping to let the other adjust to the sensation before continuing.

"Feels weird…" Russia mumbled, his eyes once again squeezed tight.

"I know," America said in a soothing voice, kissing his eyelids.

"It'll get better, I promise."

The Russian nodded, but kept his mouth shut. His earlier resolution was now wavering. Was sex supposed to feel like this? Wasn't his current position a bit too awkward?

And what if America would leave him once the deed was done?

His thought process was brought to a halt when the smaller nation added a second finger. He hissed out in pain, muscles working their way around the digits.

"Sssh, it's going to be all right," America tried to hush him. He chanced feeling around inside of the Russian, searching for that one spot that would bring him the utmost delight.

"Hurts…" Russia muttered, body trembling.

"I know," America said in a desperate voice. He placed kisses all over the tall nation's face, whispering gentle words and reassurances, trying to distract him from the pain.

Somehow the Russian calmed down again. He wondered if America really meant those words, if he really did want for him to be at ease doing this. And he wondered when he would stop doubting everything that happened.

One couldn't blame him. After all, the Russian had next to zero experience when it came to relationships. It all sounded so very clear in his heart, that America had to like him at least a little for him to be this considerate. But was he ready to trust the vital organ?

Russia's eyes shot open when America finally located his prostate.

"Found it~" he said in a sing-song voice, watching the other jerk and twitch in surprise.

"What was that?" the Russian gasped, never having felt anything like that before.

"Your prostate. Didn't find any info on that one online?"

Ah, so that was it. Russia had indeed read about the bundle of nerves, but the real deal was quite different from his expectations. It was _a lot_ better.

The young nation moved fast enough to give him joy, but slow enough not to make him come just yet. Russia was beginning to get frustrated, trying to wiggle his hips and increase the pace.

"Getting impatient?" the American smirked.

Russia flushed but said nothing. The blond was completely right.

He grabbed the other's wrist, eyes set on desperate.

"Alfred. I want… I want…"

America smiled that brilliant thousand watt-smile of his.

"You sure you're ready?"

The look in those smouldering eyes said it all. America removed his fingers and got rid of the remaining piece of cloth. He poured some lotion onto his cock and rubbed it in, making sure everything was slick. He then lined himself up. His hand found the Russian's and intertwined their fingers.

"Ready?"

Russia gave a squeeze as a reply.

America pushed the tip in, stopping momentarily when Russia let out a gasp. After asking him if he was okay and getting a nod in return, he steadily gained ground.

When he felt his partner tense around him, he clenched his teeth, the tightness hugging him in all the right ways.

"Relax Vanya," he breathed, focussing his entire being on getting his body under control.

"Prosti," the Russian quickly apologized. His face was overheated, eyes a bit watery. America used a thumb to wipe away the tears before continuing.

Russia didn't really know what to think. He loved all the glorious sensations, but felt like his pride was being shattered all the same. America'd better keep his word and let him be the dominant one next time. If there was going to be a next time. Russia hoped there would be. He hadn't heard the other complain that much, so that must mean he wasn't the worst at this, right? Plus he still felt in control of his mind, despite the raw instincts pulsing through his body. At least he now knew he wouldn't have to worry about accidently unleashing the monster anymore.

"Look at me."

Violet clashed with vivid blue, and in that one moment, everything was perfect.

They fully understood each other, felt the same amount of love, _knew_ that the other wasn't planning on going anywhere. Russia's heart swelled at seeing those half-lidded eyes, the sweat on his forehead, the tip of his tongue wetting his dry lips, that still unfamiliar emotion oozing from his mere existence.

He was beautiful.

Russia raised a hand and cupped the other's cheek. If this was indeed love, he wanted more of it.

America kissed him while thrusting at an unfaltering pace. Finally they were connected in both body and soul. Finally Russia was his, and his alone.

The older nation blushed when he caught his hand wandering down to his own crotch. America noticed. He grabbed the shaft and started pumping, complying to the other's silent request.

It soon became too much for the both of them to bear.

"Alfred!" the Russian cried out as he spilled his semen over his stomach.

America did the same, before flopping down on his Russian pillow and trying to catch his breath.

Russia caressed his hair, seeing stars when he closed his eyes.

"Feel good?" the sunny blond asked, tracing circles on his hip.

"Da," came the whispered response.

Russia held the other in his arms. There were so many things he still wanted to say.

Touch me more. Promise to never leave me. Say that you like me as much as I think I do you. Stay by my side. Help me find happiness.

No words left his mouth. But they would in due time.

Russia placed a kiss on top of the other's scalp as he felt him slide into unconsciousness.

If America really meant what he said, then they would have all the time in the world.

As he watched the other's sleeping figure, he felt that one all-overpowering emotion again.

And in that moment, he knew exactly what it felt like to love.

America had to love him back. He simply had to, there was no other way he could survive otherwise.

Not now that he knew.

Love was indeed a magnificent catastrophe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russia is mostly still hesitating because of the things his lovely sister said to him, but America will help get rid of those insecurities in the following months.
> 
> Also a quick little sneak-peek: a sex scene with Russia being the dominant one will pass the revue.
> 
> …Yeah, there's a lot of sex in these last few chapters. :P


	43. Dorogoy moy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia and America talk about body-related trivia.

Sunlight crept through the closed curtains, trying to stir the room's occupants awake. Two bodies lay next to each other, arms draped over backs and legs tangled, their breathing slow and content.

The sunny blond started moving, yawning loudly before eyes fluttered open. He blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the new lighting, before his blue orbs fell upon the face of the man next to him. America smiled peacefully.

Russia looked so innocent, so blissfully happy when he was asleep. Especially now that the nightmares had finally seemed to calm down.

America stretched out an arm to touch his face. Following the jawline, his nose, playing with those long eyelashes. The Russian twitched in his sleep, but didn't wake up. America chuckled breathlessly and kept exploring the other's face. His soft and smooth lips, his cheekbone, the curly hair next to his ears, the line of his eyebrows, all the way up to the base of his hair.

America couldn't believe that Russia was his lover now. Or boyfriend, or whatever you want to call it. He'd never dreamt this day would arrive.

All this time Russia had liked him too. The hiding had been unnecessary. If only they'd known earlier, it would have spared them from a lot of misunderstandings and heartbreak. But that didn't matter, because in the end all was good. They were happy now.

America started placing soft kisses all over the other's face, trying to wake him up. The tip of his nose, his earlobes, his eyelids, the space in between his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth. His lips ghosted over the Russian's, breathing out heavily.

America was startled when he suddenly felt an arm being pressed against the back of his head, pulling him closer. He was met by a slow but deep kiss, as Russia hummed appreciatively into his mouth. When he broke away, America had to gasp for air.

Russia chuckled, his violet eyes half-lidded and smouldering.

"Dobroe utro Fedya. Were you that impatient for me to wake up?" He leisurely stretched his back while making this comment.

America grinned widely as the Russian buried his nose in his hair. He loved cuddling in the morning. The American pushed himself against the tall nation's broad chest, laying his head against the crook of his throat. Russia absentmindedly played with the little hairs in his neck, pressing a kiss to his scalp.

Life was good.

The two nations had spent three amazing weeks together. After the fated sunflower-viewing, they never left each other's side. They had done all kinds of activities while the American tried to teach his lover about the rules of relationships. Luckily for the both of them, Russia was a good student. The more time they spent together, the more instinct took over, guiding him into the right direction. He knew exactly when America wanted to hold hands or snuggle up to him, he got the picture when public displays of affection were out of the question (although he did like to catch the other by surprise; that embarrassed blush of his was just too precious~), he tried not to be too jealous or overprotective (meaning he didn't immediately kill anyone who came near his little sunflower), he was a gentleman and a cute unexperienced teenager combined.

And of course they had _practised_. A lot.

But now was their final day together. Because the both of them still had work to do, meetings to go to. They couldn't be together 24/7, however much they'd like to. Of course they were going to spend as much time together as possible in the future. But they couldn't just move in together or something like that. They were nations after all, not humans. They had their responsibilities as a country, and couldn't just leave their landmass behind for all eternity. Besides, America could never live in the Winter Wonderland (more like Freezing Hell of Cold Doom) that was the vast lands of Russia, and the other would probably start missing his own people, his own language, and most importantly, his own culture. No, moving in was out of the question.

But at least they still had today.

* * *

America was spitting out all of the milk-soaked cereal he had been munching on. This action had been triggered by a rather unexpected question from the Russian.

Russia patiently waited for the other to stop coughing violently, smile never leaving his face and fingers tapping the surface of the table.

"You want to know what?!" America asked as soon as he could speak again.

"I simply wanted to know why you call it Florida."

America shot him a look that said "no comment, and why the heck did you even think of that?!"

Russia giggled. "Does it have something to do with the state? If I recall correctly, Florida is a nice girl. Whatever could she have done to deserve her name being giving to-"

America groaned and laid his head on the table.

"All right, all right! Stop it already! I'll tell you, sheesh!"

Russia placed his head in his hands, motioning for the younger nation to continue.

"Okay. So, you know that all of my body parts are named after a certain state, right? Well, it actually has nothing to do with their personifications."

Russia curiously tilted his head, but didn't interrupt.

"You know, my states are actually really young. Still kids in fact, even though some of them have already reached the appearance of someone in their mid-teens. But yeah, they haven't been around for that long. When I became the United States of America, none of the states had personifications yet. So what happened? Since the states are a part of me, I like, literally made them an actual part of me."

He took a quick sip of his coffee before further explaining.

"It wasn't until much later that my kids showed up. All of a sudden they just, I dunno, popped up, coming out of nowhere. No idea why or how, or where they even came from. But I guess no one knows that with the nations either, and they're more or less the same as us. Only a little less strong and stuff. But yeah. So all of a sudden I had kids. My states weren't just a part of my body anymore. But since I had already grown used to calling my body parts that, I figured I'd just stick with it."

"Then why Florida?"

America shot him an annoyed glance. "That's just because of the shape, okay? And don't you dare tell any of my kids. For the record, I've never told them that they're an actual part of me. Figured it'd be kinda creepy and stuff. Exactly the kind of wrong you're thinking about now!" he accused, watching the other giggle in delight.

America tipped his chair back, arms folded behind his head.

"So, since we're doing this little Q&A, mind telling me where you got those scars from?"

Russia instantly stopped laughing and furrowed his brows.

"I would rather not talk about that."

"Why not?"

"Painful memories."

America put on his best puppy face. "Please? I'm just really, really curious."

Russia wanted to decline, but when he saw those eyes, of course he couldn't say no. He sighed in frustration before pulling down his scarf. America scooted closer to get a better look, but kept himself from touching the skin. Didn't want to get the other distracted now that he was going to share something from his past with him.

Russia pointed to the indication of a rope, deciding to start with the most prominent scar.

"This one is from during the Russian Revolution. My people suddenly decided I needed to pay for my sins, so they took out a rope and tried to hang me."

He smiled wryly. "It took them a week to realize I was not going to die."

America gulped. In hindsight, maybe asking hadn't been such a good idea. But still, the scars were intriguing. He wanted to know as much as he could about the tall nation, that mysterious man he was now sharing a bed with.

Russia then pointed to the least visible scar. It was a long incision, almost like he had been cut by a sharp knife there.

"This one was from Mongolia, from the Siege of Moscow back in 1382 (1). I am lucky this is the only cut that became a scar."

Nations only got scars to remind them of important events in history after all.

The Russian then began naming all of his other scars. An old burn caused by frostbite, a souvenir from General Winter in 1707 (2). A wound indicating the death of the Romanovs. The remains of nail scratches from Ivan the Terrible (3). A scar for the suffering of his people in the Gulags (4). An extra-long line for the Crimean War (5). A wound inflicted by the nuclear disaster in Chernobyl (even though it was in Ukraine, since she was a part of the Soviet Union then, he was the one getting hurt).

Russia was saying this all in a monotone, matter-of-fact voice, not allowing himself to feel anything. If he would, he had no idea if he could stop the tears from spilling, the horror from slowly pushing him over the edge.

The Russian was startled out of his enumeration by a sudden kiss on his Adam's Apple. America had bent over, closing the distance between them while the tall nation had his eyes closed.

The look on America's face was gentle and understanding. Not that he could ever fully understand all the pain and hardships the Russian had to go through, but they were both nations. America too knew what it was like to feel like your sanity is being torn apart in a Civil War, to see your people dying on and off the battle field. Yes, he was still a kid compared to the older nation, but he could at least _try_ to comfort him.

Russia smiled and patted the American on the head.

"Spasiba, little one. I hope you will not have to see the things I have seen. But you are still so young, who knows what the future will bring?"

America had nothing to say. The grief hanging in the air was too thick. He wanted it to go away right now. So he bent over again and started kissing all of Russia's scars, placing loving pecks on each and every wound. He had momentarily forgotten what reactions that would cause.

"Ah Alfred, could you please stop?" Russia asked, voice suddenly high and childlike again, all the solemnity flowing away.

America looked up and noticed the blush on the other's cheeks. He grinned naughtily and grazed his teeth over the torn skin.

Just as Russia was about to tackle him to the ground and take this game to the next level, the door swung open.

"Alfred, you really shouldn't leave the door unlo-"

England paused at seeing the display in front of him.

Russia sitting in a chair, an American in his lap, both looking ready to tear each other's clothes off.

England's initial reaction, being the gentleman that he was, was to step outside and close the door, apologizing for the intrusion. But, since he hadn't been updated on the change in the two nation's relationship yet, he chose for letting out a manly shriek and fainting on the spot.

America sighed, retracting his mouth from his boyfriend's neck.

"Guess we'll have some explaining to do once he wakes up."

Russia wasn't very happy with the interruption. Not at all. Not only because he didn't want to deal with an overprotective island nation, but also because the Brit had come at a rather inconvenient time. And America wasn't really up for continuing where they had left of now that his former guardian was there.

Needless to say, Russia was quite peeved for the rest of the day.

* * *

They were at the airport. England hadn't left them alone the whole day long, having glaring contests with the Russian and lecturing America about not telling him anything. As if America had planned on telling him anytime soon.

Now, England had just left on the plane back to his own country. Apparently he had been in the neighbourhood and only wanted to drop by (no idea what he was doing in California, but oh well).

Russia and America only had one hour left until the plane to Moscow arrived. And then they would be unable to see each other for at least a month. So, what did they do? The only thing couples are supposed to do when they won't be seeing each other for such a long time.

Eating ice cream of course. And holding hands under the table. Because America was secretly a real sucker for cutesy stuff like that.

When the plane almost arrived and Russia was about to check in, the younger nation pulled him into an embrace. They kissed, ignoring the oohs and aahs they got from nosy spectators.

"I'll miss you," the American whispered, playing with the scarf of his lover.

Russia smiled. "Me too, dorogoy moy."

America huffed. "Hey, wasn't that an insult or something?"

The Russian chuckled. "No, I lied. It means 'my darling'."

Russia had to kiss him again after seeing that adorable look of astonishment on the other's face.

America stayed in the airport, long after his lover had boarded the plane. He looked out the window, not wanting to miss the take-off.

"I love you," he said, realizing he hadn't uttered those three words yet.

That was something to hold onto for next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Siege of Moscow in 1382 was a battle between Tokhtamysh, khan of the Golden Horde, and the Muscovite forces. The Grand Duchy of Moscow or Grand Principality of Moscow (also known in English simply as Muscovy), was a late medieval Rus' principality centered on Moscow and the predecessor state of the early modern Tsardom of Russia.
> 
> 2) The winter in 1707 was apparently the most brutal of the 18th century.
> 
> 3) Ivan the Terrible was said to be caught by a sudden rage due to episodes of mental illness.
> 
> 4) Labor camps in Siberia during the Stalin era.
> 
> 5) Conflict between Russia the Ottoman Empire (and some other countries he formed an alliance with but these two are the main characters). It was basically a religious war (most European wars are); the Ottoman Empire was fighting for the rights of Christian minorities over a patch of land they believed to be part of the Holy Land, while Russia was orthodox Christian. It was also because the Ottoman Empire was declining in territory, so they felt like kicking Russia's ass for it. Russia lost the war, but they did gain control over the Black Sea. In 1586 Russia made peace. The Russian would keep the Black Sea but keep it neutral, not using it for military action. Also, the two states Wallachia and Moldova became independent.  
> The war was mostly held in the area of Crimea, hence the name. It is also known as the Eastern War.  
> For those who like poetry: Charge of the Light Brigade by Lord Tennyson tells about the Crimean War.
> 
> Thank you Wikipedia!


	44. Cabin in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fan-service time!

America swore under his breath when he hit his big toe against the doorframe.

Great, as if their situation wasn't bad enough already.

At the moment, Russia and America were hiding from the tall nation's beloved little sister. Let's just say she didn't take the news of the two of them being a couple very well. They hadn't exactly told her, she just kind of… found out.

So, right now the two nations were staying at the cabin in the woods of America's brother (the name momentarily slipped him). The American was just coming back from gathering some wood for the fireplace, while Russia had been busy making them a small dinner.

"Man, it's already getting dark out there!" America grumbled, kneeling down and trying to get the fireplace lit.

"We did arrive at a rather late hour," the ashen blond admitted.

Once the fire was burning, the two nations settled on the couch with a bowl of soup, trying to get warm in the poorly isolated wooden cabin.

"Can't believe Canadia can survive up here…"

"Canada," Russia corrected him.

America shot him a puzzled look. "Who?"

The tall nation rolled his eyes and ate another spoon of his soup.

They remained silent for a little while, hungrily devouring the first meal in twenty-four hours. Belarus hadn't exactly gone easy on them last night.

A sudden creak in the wood made the younger nation go rigid.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, adrenaline pumping through his body.

"Hear what?" the Russian inquired, finishing his dinner.

America's eyes shot to the ceiling. "…Do you think there are ghosts here?"

Russia chuckled. "Of course not, silly rabbit."

America was about to retort when the howling of the wind outside made him jump straight into his lover's arms.

"There _are_ ghosts here! Or maybe crazy axe murderers or werewolves or zombies or-" he hollered, body trembling with fear.

The Russian tried to distract him, but to no avail. The blue-eyed nation kept clinging to him, anxiety growing with each and every little sound that reached his ears.

Russia sighed. What to do with this predicament?

Then his amethysts fell upon Nantucket. The cowlick was swaying with every little movement the American made.

Russia's smile became mischievous, his eyes glowing a bright purple.

"Fedya, there is something we can do to forget about the ghosts."

"What's that?" America squeaked, face hidden in the Russian's scarf.

Russia answered by lowering his face and licking the spring of hair, following the curl with the tip of his tongue.

The sunny blond tensed in his lap. He slowly tilted his head up, cheeks a rosy tint.

"Oh, that. …Now?"

Russia lowered his eyelids, sending the younger nation a seductive leer.

America needn't be told twice.

He immediately pulled the other into a kiss, tongue darting along teeth and wet, sensitive skin. Russia playfully caught Nantucket with his index finger, slowly wrapping and unwrapping it around the digit. The way the other's body went limp under his exploring hands aroused him all the more. With one push to his chest, America tumbled over and fell on his back.

"Wait!" the American said as Russia tried to mount him.

"We still have to roll a dice!"

Russia impatiently clicked his tongue. Since both nations were too proud to constantly be on the receiving end, they had agreed to roll a dice each time. Uneven meant Russia on top, even was America. The Russian would have loved for another arrangement, but that would have to do for the time being.

He waited for the other to dig up the object he carried everywhere (just in case) and throw it in the air. He caught it with one hand and then flipped it over onto the back of his other hand. He smirked at his boyfriend before revealing the result. It was a five.

"Aw, come on! That's the third time in a row already!"

"You are the one who wanted to do it this way."

America pouted. "As long as you don't hurt me! You're seriously too big!"

The Russian chuckled. "I have never hurt you before. And do not act as if you do not like it."

It was true. Ever since the tall nation had gotten over his initial shyness (and after some – a lot of – practising), he had become quite good at the act. More than good. Amazingly good, as one could say. But the American still liked to complain every chance he got (probably just because he was jealous).

The older nation started placing soft kisses on America's lips, while his hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt. He remembered to take off the other's askew glasses, not wanting anything to happen to them. His hands then wandered over America's naked torso, nails grazing the tanned skin, fingers pinching a nipple. Russia moved down and started nibbling on the pink nub, tongue playing with it until the skin was tainted crimson.

America was trying to get his hands under Russia's thick pullover, impatiently pulling at the fabric. Russia stopped his movements to lock eyes with him.

"Alfred, please do not rip my clothes. Remember what happened last time? I would not like a repeat of that."

Last time the American had gotten impatient, he accidently destroyed the chair they were sitting on. It hadn't even been his intention to grab the chair, it was just that he was so focussed on undressing his lover that he hadn't noticed his other hand gripping tighter and tighter, until the wood splintered right underneath his palm, sending the two nations to the ground in an untidy mess.

"Come on Vanya, that was one time! I'm not gonna ever let that happen again."

The other times he had broken something didn't count.

The Russian looked at him with a knowing mien.

"Is it because what I do is that fantastic?"

"No, I-" The answer was turned into a loud gasp as the tall nation took Nantucket in his mouth, sucking at the unruly strand of hair.

America dug his nails into the other's back, but then remembered the promise he had made not even ten seconds ago. He rapidly tried to control himself, half of his mind focussed on the tingling sensations the sucking brought with them. Florida was already straining against his pants, begging to be released out in the open. It became even worse when the Russian started grinding against him, creating a delicious friction. He tugged at the older nation's clothes again, a silent request for him to get naked already.

The Russian licked his cowlick one last time before getting up and finally taking off that warm pullover of his. Then, with one swift movement, he grabbed the smaller nation in his arms and placed him on the rug near the fireplace.

"Doing it on the ground are we?" America asked, one eyebrow cocked. He was acting a lot smoother than he felt, skin overheated and aching for touch. The ghosts were already long forgotten.

"At least here you cannot destroy anything," Russia teased, before bending over and leaving a trail of kisses on the blond's chest.

America quickly got rid of the other's scarf, not wanting to be the only one feeling good. He started caressing the scars on his neck, fingertips brushing past sensitive flesh and a bruise that vaguely resembled a hand. Yeah, they really had gotten a little rough last time.

The Russian grunted in appreciation as he bent down further. He used his teeth to open the American's zipper, placing a promising kiss on the bulge in his underwear. After that he quickly got rid of both the blond's pants and boxers. The rest of his own clothes followed soon after.

"You didn't forget to bring any lotion or lube or somethin', did you?" America asked warily.

Russia sent him an all-out evil grin. "I did!"

America's eyebrows shot up in stupefaction. There was no way in hell he was going to let himself be taken dry. The Russian noticed the look on his face and sent him a reassuring smile.

"Do not worry dorogoy. There are other things we can use beside lotion."

Before America could protest, the Russian successfully silenced him by bringing their cocks together. He started rubbing them simultaneously, big hands enveloping their joined manhood.

The younger nation's head lolled back as he instinctively thrust his hips up, loving the wonderful sensations.

"Aaaaaaaaah~" he sighed, eyes closing on their own accord, lewd little grunts escaping his plump lips.

The Slavic nation chuckled, although it sounded more lustful than comical. He connected their lips in a heated kiss, before giving Nantucket another nip.

He stopped when the blond suddenly arched his back and reached his orgasm. He waited for the other to finish, helping him through his climax, own erection throbbing expectantly. The embarrassed look on his lover's face was just too precious.

"Dammit!" America cursed, before hiding his face behind his hands, ears having turned a nice dark red.

Russia tugged at his arms, not wanting his sunflower to cover his face.

"Please Fedya, do not be ashamed. There is nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Yes there is! It's just that when you touch me at all those places at once, I simply can't hold myself back! Aargh, it's so frustrating!"

Russia smiled and placed a kiss on top of his fingers.

"It does not matter. We can still keep going, da? I do not mind having to excite you again."

Blue came peaking at the nation hovering over him. "It's just not fair that this only happens to me. You're always cool and composed whenever you top, and here I am coming too fast. This is exactly why I should be the dominant one!"

Russia took one of his hands and kissed the palm. "Do you really think I am calm when we are like this?" He placed the hand over his heart, so America could feel its erratic thundering.

"You know what I mean," the younger nation pouted.

Russia brought his face close to the other, noses brushing and violet orbs glowing. "As long as I am the only one that can make you this aroused, nothing else matters. I will never laugh at you. It even makes me happy."

To make his words count, he licked at the other's lips, hand finding the nation's length again and giving confident strokes, reviving his erection. Luckily for the both of them, the young nation was quite easily aroused.

America shuddered as he wrapped his arms around Russia's neck, pulling him in for yet another kiss, complaints immediately pushed to the back of his mind. Soon he was hard again, eager for the main act to begin. Because even though he loved to top, being much more confident and level-headed when he was the one controlling everything, he had to admit Russia could rouse him like no other had ever done before. Maybe because he had never liked his partner this much, maybe because Russia was a natural. Or maybe because the tall nation was both the gentlest and roughest lover he had ever been with.

The Russian got up and hurried over to the kitchen, leaving his boyfriend whining at the loss. America impatiently squirmed on the rug, hand beginning to reach down to touch himself. He stopped though, not wanting to have another premature ejaculation. Sometimes it reeeeeaaaaalllllyyyyyy sucked having the same amount of hormones as a horny adolescent.

When Russia returned, America snorted at the object he brought with him.

Olive oil. Like, seriously?

"Are you gonna eat me up or somethin'? What, so now you're a cannibal too?"

Russia kneeled down again, unscrewing the lid.

"Nyet. The Internet says oil is in fact quite a good alternative for lubricant."

America raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "And you know this how?"

Russia smiled bashfully at him. "Research."

He leaved the American no time to proceed the discussion as he pushed the other's legs apart and carefully slid in an oil-coated finger. America spread his legs as wide as possible, trying to relax his body to the fullest. Once he was used to the feeling of having something inside of him, he nodded, a sign for the other to continue preparing him.

The room was filled with the cosy crackling of the fire, combined with heavy breathing and slick thrusts. America absentmindedly played with the scarf that had been lying next to him on the ground, biding his time until something especially good happened. Then the tall nation caught Nantucket between skilled fingers once more, making him twitch with each stroke.

"F-fuck," he spat, using the scarf as a lasso to drag the other close and give him a sloppy kiss.

"Be careful with my scarf," the Russian muttered, eyes closed as the younger nation nibbled on his lower lip.

"Always babe," America assured him.

And he meant it. He knew there was nothing more precious to the older nation than his scarf, not even his favourite flowers. It made him wonder how high on the list he himself was. But he had to admit, he would have doubts as well if he had to choose between his boyfriend and enough ice cream for an entire year.

Nah, that was a joke.

…Or was it?

The strange direction of his thoughts was cut off as Russia extracted his fingers and placed himself at his entrance. His violet orbs asked for permission, begged for it, permission which the American granted by bucking up and meeting the other halfway. He hissed at the sudden feeling of something considerably larger than a couple of fingers intruding him, but it only lasted a moment.

Russia groaned as he slowly began pushing in, careful not to hurt his lover. He kept murmuring reassuring words, hand cupping the other's cheek in an affectionate gesture. He started advancing at a slow and steady pace, admiring the sight of a half-lidded American beneath him, blue eyes reflecting the heath he felt, lips slightly parted, neck an enchanting crimson. He moved down and let his tongue trace the other's collarbone, follow the sun-kissed skin of his throat, and then zigzagged all over his face, placing open-mouthed kisses on every part he could reach.

He was still overjoyed at having this little child of the sun all to himself.

Russia switched angles and began thrusting harder. America let out a mewling sound, legs wrapping around the other's hips in a mute demand. He didn't have to wait long, because Russia soon found the bundle of nerves that sent a shot of bliss straight through his spine, buzzing his mind and glazing over his eyes. America wrapped his legs tighter, cursing plentifully as the Russian kept hitting his sweet spot. America's nails had to be drawing blood by now, clawing at the other's back in sudden ecstasy.

Russia shuddered and closed his eyes, now working towards finding release. With each moan, each curse, each squirming and scratching and twitching, he found himself coming closer. Not wanting to be the first to finish, he grabbed the other's member and started pumping again, loving the new sounds his actions caused.

America noticed the concentrated expression on the other's face, and in a sudden moment of clarity, he knew exactly what the older nation was thinking.

So he moved closer and licked his neck.

Russia's eyes shot open at the sudden touch. He lost his focus and found himself abruptly coming to his climax. He loudly moaned America's name as a wave of euphoria washed over his body, emptying himself into the warmth of his lover. Luckily for him, America came not soon afterwards, due to the rough gripping of his hand.

They both lay panting on the rug, not caring they had stained it.

"What was that for?" the Russian asked as soon as he could speak normally again.

"I wanted to make you feel what it was like, coming before the other."

Russia showed his tongue in a childish gesture, although his cheeks were shamefully red.

"You have proven your point," he grumbled, before crawling over to the other and poking him between the ribs.

"Ow!" America yelped, before poking Russia right above his belly button.

And so, the poking competition of the century ensued, both nations giggling hysterically and rolling around on the carpet, bodies still very much naked and covered in sweat and evidence of their recent love making.

Russia cut the game short as he began kissing the blond again, on his nose, his shoulder, his hip, his elbow, and finally a brush over his lips.

"Ya lyublyu tebya," he murmured.

Immediately after, his eyes went wide, as if he hadn't expected himself saying that at all.

"What does that mean?" America inquired.

The way Russia turned his orbs downwards and was blushing fiercely was beyond captivating.

America had a faint suspicion of what the words meant, but he wanted to hear the other say it.

"It means… It means…"

The way he was looking for words was oh so darling. America really wanted to pounce him and kiss him breathless, but he had to hear the sentence first.

He needed to know.

Russia's violet spheres slowly wandered up, shyly locking with the other's vivid blue ones.

"It means 'I love you'."

America sent him one of the most dazzling grins he had ever witnessed after that confession. The blond kissed him passionately on the lips, fingers tenderly massaging his scalp and sliding through snowy bangs.

When he pulled away, he was still grinning like an idiot. A very cute and happy looking idiot.

Because his Russian boyfriend had finally figured it out.

"I love you too."

Russia almost felt his heart leaping out of his chest again, but was able to hold it in. He had never thought those little words could bring him such delight, such euphoria.

America loved him.

The one he loved, adored, treasured, admired and cherished…

Actually loved him back.

What more could a nation want?

The two of them stayed up late that night, caressing, embracing, snuggling, cuddling, kissing, stroking, touching, and further trying to distract themselves from the so-called ghosts.


	45. He's mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding time with Belarus. ...Sort of.

…Nobody was feeling comfortable at the moment. In fact, the tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Why?

Let me enlighten you.

At the moment, Russia, America, Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania were all seated around a table in Lithuania's house. The Lithuanian had sacrifi- offered for his house to be the place of meeting up, probably since he didn't mind having Belarus over (unlike most of the others, Ukraine excluded).

Today was an important day. Because they were finally going to talk with Belarus about their relationship. As in, properly talk, not being discovered and then chased around the house with a gigantic cleaver.

Ukraine of course was thrilled that her little brother had finally found someone to love, but their youngest sibling wasn't all that happy with it. She still believed that she and Russia were going to marry someday, after all. The only reason he kept running away from her love was that he hadn't realized his feelings for her yet. But she could wait.

That did not mean her brother could just go and be with someone else, however.

So that was why she was now glaring daggers at the American seated across from her. She was ripping up a napkin; they had hidden all knives and forks before her arrival. Her blue eyes were cold and furious, mouth forming a disapproving line. Her hair looked like it could catch on fire any moment by her heated emotions.

America on the other hand, looked quite unconcerned about being targeted by the devil's spawn. He was happily munching away on some of Ukraine's homemade cookies, fingers rapping on the surface of the wooden table and feet doing a little spastic tap dance under it. He seemed blissfully unaware of his impending doom.

Ukraine and Lithuania were sitting next to each other, exchanging worried glances. Even though Ukraine loved her sister, she was all too familiar with her short temper. And even though Lithuania loved Belarus, he didn't want a fight to break out. He also cared for America and Russia, so he didn't want for anyone to get hurt.

And then the final attendant. He was the one who wanted to be here the least of all. His violet spheres constantly shot to the door, ready to make his escape if things were to escalate. He hadn't properly talked to his sister since that one visit at his house, already feeling like so long ago. He wasn't ready to face her, and most likely never would be. Belarus had a gift for tearing away his defences, hitting him where it most hurt. She thought she was doing him a pleasure, showing him how much she understood his pain, not realizing she was only making it worse.

Russia loved his sister. He truly did.

But she could be such a bitch sometimes.

Lithuania cleared his throat, getting a little nauseous under the pressure.

"Would anyone like a drink?"

Russia immediately shot up.

"Da, drinks! I will get it!"

And with those words he stormed out of the room, successfully escaping the battlefield.

Belarus watched him with a sickly tender smile, before returning to glare at the offending blonde in their midst.

America swallowed his final cookie, sighed, and straightened his figure. He leant forward on the table, supporting his chin with folded hands.

"All right Natalia. I think it's time for you and I to have a little talk."

Ukraine suddenly burst into tears, not being able to handle it all anymore. Lithuania quickly guided her out of the room, leaving America all by himself with the witch.

But if anyone could handle her, it had to be him. He only needed to make sure not to harm her, for that in turn would piss off Russia.

Yeah, this really was a dysfunctional family.

"There is nothing you have to say that is of any importance to me," the woman hissed, napkin now unrecognizably destroyed.

America chuckled humourlessly.

"That is where we disagree. Your words aren't all that matters Natalia."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Why? It's your name right, dearest sister-in-law?"

The Belarussian bent over, venom spilling from her eyes.

"I am not your sister-in-law, you filthy capitalist vermin! You are not part of this family, and never will be!"

"Says who?"

"I do!"

America suddenly slammed his fist down on the table, startling the other.

"And who made you head of the family?!"

His words made the Belarussian paused. America used her confusion to continue his little speech.

"If anyone should be the head of your family, it should be either Ivan or Katyusha, seeing as she's the oldest. And I'm not hearing any of them complain about my being here."

Belarus' eyes narrowed angrily.

"That is because you have rotten their minds-"

"No," the sunny blond interrupted her. "No, you are the one rotting minds in this house."

Belarus leant back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. America had been on guard all the time for her to lunge at him, but so far she hadn't shown any sign of aggression (of the non-verbal kind that is).

"Why am I rotten? All I do is care for my big brother. How is that rotten, khuyesos'?!"

America didn't smile for once. He looked dead-serious when he uttered his next sentence.

"Oh, so you're not rotten huh? Then what about telling your brother he's a monster? What about breaking him down, almost making him lose himself in depression, and he definitely would've if it hadn't been for me. Or do you think that's a normal thing to say?! Do you enjoy seeing him cry?! Answer me!"

Belarus was gaping at him, eyes big and round.

"…I made Vanya cry?"

"You damn right did you bitch! I say it's about time you let go of the illusion that what you're doing can make him happy, because it obviously can't. Nobody is happy when someone – _their own sister_ – calls them a monster! Or did you never even consider his feelings?! Were you really only thinking about yourself?!"

"Enough!" the banshee shrieked, pulling out a fork they'd somehow overlooked and leaping at the other.

America was prepared though. He quickly rolled off to the side, successfully dodging the woman. The nation then shot forward, trapping the Belarussian on the table with his weight. He used his right hand to grab the wrist holding the fork, while the other arm and a part of his chest were splayed over her back.

"Let go of me!" Belarus shrieked, wiggling to try and free herself.

A sharp pain shot through her wrist as America increased the pressure, forcing her to open her hand and let go of the weapon.

"I think we've already been in this situation," America mentioned dryly. "And if I remember correctly, I won last time. So I think you'd better stop struggling if you don't want me to hurt you."

"If you hurt me, brother will destroy you!"

"If I hurt you? You mean like the way you hurt him?"

Belarus spat something incomprehensible. He could see his words were really getting to her.

It might've been harsh, but the witch deserved it. And above all, she _had_ to understand her behaviour wasn't normal.

"Listen here Natalia. I know you and I don't really get along."

Belarus would have laughed if she weren't so pissed.

"But Ivan and I are a couple now. And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. I didn't trick him into it, Katyusha agrees… You're the only one being difficult. And why? Because you still think you two will get married?"

"Of course we will! Vanya promised me when we were little!"

A shot of something akin to sympathy flashed over America's face.

"Natalia, how long ago was that?"

"That does not matter!" the woman spat, although she did sound a little hesitant. You could only hear it if you listened very carefully, but it was there nonetheless.

"He promised me! Siblings are to keep their promise to each other! I have stayed by his side all these years, I have loved him, and he _promised_!"

She was beginning to sound less like a psychopath and more like a whining child.

"Vanya has to marry me! Why would he choose you over me?! I have been there much longer. I took care of him when everybody left after the fall of the Sovetskiy soyuz. I deserve him much more than you do! You do not know what he has been through! Maybe I was wrong in calling him a monster, but it is the truth! I have seen him at his worst, and yet I always stayed loyal to him!"

To both of their surprise, the girl was actually crying. Small, soundless tears, but still.

"Why? Why would he choose you over me? What do you have to give to him that I cannot?"

America didn't really know how to answer that.

Yes, he could get cocky and tell the woman that only he knew how to make her brother happy. But then he would be lying.

"…It is hard to explain."

"Try me," Belarus sobbed, having given up her struggle.

America released her, hoping his instincts weren't betraying him. He sat down again and began.

"First of all, you said I know nothing about his past. But I do. He told me."

Ignoring the shocked look on the other's face, he continued, keeping his eyes locked with his hands.

They were small hands. Well, in comparison to the Russian's that is. Everything about him was small when seen next to the tall guy.

So how could one little nation make someone happy? How could his hands do what the Russian's much bigger ones couldn't?

"I've already told you this, but I love him. With all my heart. And because of some miracle, he loves me too. Don't ask me why, because I couldn't tell you. But apparently he does."

America closed his eyes, a gentle smile adorning his features. Belarus was completely silent.

"Ivan's not a monster you know. A monster isn't able to love. But he- He definitely is. In the past, he did those things because he had to. Because we are nations. But he never raped anyone. He never killed without a reason. He always wanted to do what was best for his people, but sometimes he just couldn't. And it hurt him like nothing else could. I know. I've seen his nightmares. It's tearing him apart."

Vivid blue eyes looked at darker ones, emotion nearly overflowing.

"That's why I want to be there for him. Not because of my own selfish desires. I want to make him happy. My own happiness is a mere side-effect. Yeah, I know. Sounds strange coming from my mouth huh? Me, who loves being in the spotlight. But not this time."

He smiled wryly.

"Not this time."

It was then that the door to the kitchen opened again, a big nose and childishly nervous eyes peeking in. Russia was stunned to see Belarus so numb, so void of any emotion, while America looked on the verge of tears.

"Is everything all right here?" he asked quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of his sister to himself.

America sighed and got up.

"Yeah, everything's fine. But I think your sis needs a little time to think." He said this while pointedly looking at the Belarussian, a warning hidden beneath the offer of some alone-time.

Belarus said nothing, she simply bowed her head to study her fingers.

* * *

"What did you say to her?"

It was almost eleven in the evening, and Russia and America were sitting in one of Lithuania's guest bedrooms.

"That's between us. Sorry big guy, but I'm gonna have to ask ya to stay out of this one."

Russia raised an eyebrow, but didn't repeat the question.

Instead, he pulled the other down with him, so that they could lay next to each other on the mattress.

"And she really did not hurt you? I am amazed…"

America chuckled, loving the way the Russian tangled fingers into his wheat-coloured locks.

"That's because I'm the hero dude! You should know that by now."

Russia giggled.

"I heard Toris is going to ask her out on a date again. I wished him good luck. He will need it."

"Yeah… Dude's got a major crush on her huh?"

Russia hummed in acknowledgment. He then lowered his head, pressing a kiss to the other's lips.

America was about to kiss him back when they heard an almost inhuman shriek.

The duo lazily looked up to find the devil standing at the end of their bed. Wearing prada.

But now wasn't exactly the time for jokes, because Belarus looked seriously pissed.

"Hey Natalia," America groaned. "Remember what I said like, not even half a day ago?"

Belarus' eye twitched.

"Yes, I remember. And I have thought about it. However-" Her smile turned maniacal. "I decided that I will not give up on him. I will keep fighting for his love. And then we _will_ get married."

America turned to Russia to ask him what he thought about it, but suddenly found the space next to him empty. The window was slammed open, the tall nation having escaped successfully.

He was alone in this.

So of course, when Belarus stalked closer with a knife larger than his head, he did what a hero was supposed to do.

He shrieked like a little girl and jumped out of the window just like his lover had done.

Belarus pursued him, spouting Russian profanity.

"Bitch, English please!"

A sentence of incomprehensible blabbering was the answer.

America rolled his eyes and kept running around the house, adrenaline pushing him on. He grinned madly when a thought crossed his mind.

He briefly looked over his shoulder to shout at the woman.

"He's mine you know! My precioussssssssssssssss!"

This made Belarus screech so loud it could burst your eardrums.

America laughed joyfully.

"You're never gonna change are you?"

"Nyet! Vanya is mine you pig!"

America grinned to himself. The chase was actually getting him excited; the perfect workout for his little ADD self.

Yeah, he could get used to this. He knew he was crazy for thinking it, but it was the truth.

He already felt like part of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Sovetskiy soyuz: Soviet Union


	46. All those little things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and Russia being dorks together.

"And that concludes my presentation!" the energetic American proclaimed.

Sighs of relief could be heard all around the table, but the young nation chose to ignore them. His suit was getting a bit too hot to his tastes, and he was dying to get out of it. But no, Germany still had to give his presentation.

If it were up to him, lunch break would be happening right about now! But seriously, it should be up to him. They were holding the Conference in Washington D.C. after all. If it weren't for the main theme of this meeting being equality and respect towards your fellow nations, he'd be bossing everyone around like there was no tomorrow.

The sunny blond dragged a hand through his hair, careful to avoid that stubborn little cowlick of his. His attention was caught by a movement from the other side of the room. Russia was waving cheerfully at him, beckoning for the nation to come closer. America grinned widely and stalked over to his Russian lover.

The moment he sat down and opened his mouth to say hi, he was cut off by a glaring German telling him to “not even think about it!” America frowned harshly at the other while Russia giggled in delight.

The other countries had more or less accepted their relationship, as long as they promised it didn't involve any politics. Most of them were still a little wary of the Russian, and didn't like the idea of two superpowers being together at all. But since nothing had happened on a political level so far, they eventually came to terms with it. A lot of nations were still scared shitless of Russia, but others had come to tolerate his presence. Northern Italy even hugged the tall nation on occasion, catching everybody by surprise. Admittedly, he did hide behind Germany directly afterwards. But still, it was a major improvement.

America was brought back to the present by something being pushed into his hand. He curiously unfolded the little piece of paper.

_Our German colleague is being extraordinarily stern, is he not my dearest friend?_

America grinned and wrote a quick response. He loved passing notes like some gibberish highschool girls.

_Just friends now, are we?_

The next note came immediately after.

_A very 'special' friend, little sunflower of mine._

America looked up to see the Russian wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive gesture. He had to clasp a hand over his mouth to conceal a loud snort.

And so, the note-passing war begun.

_Hey Vanya, let's play a game!_

__As long as it does not involve that film we saw the other night. As far as I liked the torturing, I do not want you to lock yourself in the closet again._

_Not my fault_ Saw _is a freakin terrifying movie! No but really, I wanna play Guess the Country!_

__Fine. But please stop jumping up and down in your chair, you are kicking me._

_Sorry. Okay, who am I? I love to curse and have a weird obsession for round and red objects._

__Italy Romano. Easy one._

_Sure sure, now it's your turn big guy!_

__I have some sort of odd trembling disease._

_Latvia. And I know right? Guy should get himself checked or something. Next! I write girly diaries and love beer waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much._

__That would be our good friend Gilbert. By the way, if he ever hurts Matvey, just tell me._

_Thanks, but I can handle him. Besides, things seem to be going pretty well with those two._

__The offer still stands. I think the Magic Death Stick of Pain needs some exercise._

_Don't even go there._

__I already did~_

Both nations jumped when their little written conversation was interrupted by Germany.

"Cut that out this instant! This is a serious meeting, not a visit to the supermarket!"

The American and the Russian sent each other a knowing smile, trying and failing to burst into laughter at their own childish behaviour.

Being together was fun.

* * *

America had invited his boyfriend to stay at his house during the summit meeting. As soon as both nations set foot in the estate, Russia came face to face with Tony the alien.

"Why hello there Mr. Alien!" the tall nation cheerfully greeted.

Tony gave him a quick once-over before trotting off, going to do whatever it is aliens do in their free time. Apparently the Russian had been approved of.

"You can hang your coat there," America said while taking off his shoes.

"Is your extra-terrestrial friend always like that?" Russia asked.

The younger nation shrugged. "More or less. He doesn't talk much, but he's a great listener. He loves it when Iggy visits though, suddenly starts spouting shit like there's no tomorrow. Would love it if he were always that talkative."

The way he uttered that last sentence made him sound a little lonely. Russia wrapped his arms around the smaller nation's chest and placed a kiss on his left ear.

"You can talk to me now, little bunny."

America scowled at him. "I'm not a bunny! You should stop thinking up new nicknames for me!"

Russia smiled sweetly. "I know you love them sweetheart."

"Stop it! You make me sound like a girl!"

"How so buttercup?"

America started struggling to break free, but the Russian held him securely in a vice-like grip.

"I can go on forever, you know? Hummingbird~"

America clasped his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you! LALALALALA-"

The Russian continued merrily in a sing-song voice.

"Solnyshka, apple pie, darling sweetie cakes, light in my life, cherry blossom, silly little duckling, summer breeze~"

The American successfully cut him off by turning around and capturing his mouth in a short yet powerful kiss. Russia immediately forgot all about his teasing, leaning into the kiss and thinking about how long it had been since the two of them had seen each other. As the younger nation broke away, he smirked against his lips.

"And now we are going to McDonald's."

Russia tried to get the other to go back home all the way long, but once America had a craving for burgers, there was simply no stopping him. No matter how many times Russia tried to hold hands with him, placed little pecks on his cheeks, made promises of hot and passionate sex, it just wouldn't do. The American pulled his hand loose, turned his head, and refused to talk to him as long as he didn't have a hamburger or ten on hand.

"I want to go home Alfred!" the Russian whined. That kiss had really made him yearn for the other's touch, especially after so long without it, but here they were, standing in line of a capitalist snack bar chain store. Russia was very impatient today, and he wasn't going to hide it.

"I will even let you top," he whispered in a husky voice.

America's eyebrow twitched. "Tempting, but burgers come first."

The tall nation pouted, his lower lip sticking out in a childish manner. Then, his expression changed in the blink of an eye from pitiful to all out evil mastermind.

Suddenly the Russian pushed himself flush against America's back, chin propped on the smaller nation's shoulder. But what was worse: he used his right hand to cup the other's crotch and nibbled on his ear, earning him a surprised yelp. He kneaded a few times before pulling back, immediately distancing himself from the American.

America slowly turned around. His mouth was opening and closing in shock and utter disbelief, eyes almost popping out of his skull, and cheeks paying a visit to blush central. He was mentally willing his body not to give any reactions to the unexpected assault.

Meanwhile, Russia was looking like innocence incarnate. Orbs big and childish, tiny smile concealing his utmost amusement, arms folded behind his back. Were he an anime character, there would be flowers of pure virtue floating next to his head.

"What do you think you're doing?!" the American hissed through clenched teeth.

Russia giggled. "Experimenting~"

The girl behind the cash register had never seen their most regular customer order and leave in such a rush, dragging a huge guy behind him while spewing things like "Home, now!" and "Your ass is gonna be so sore in the morning!" His friend waved sheepishly at the girl while being pulled along. She waved back, trying to erase the mental images this scene was bringing to her mind.

* * *

Russia was sulking.

Not because his ass was indeed very much sore. No, it was because America had lost control, forgetting about his inhuman strength.

Result: his leg was now in a cast.

A pint of ice cream popped up from around the corner. Russia narrowed his eyes at it and looked back at the television. America's head followed after the peace offering.

"I brought you ice cream," he said in a tiny voice, eyes pleading.

Russia folded his arms, eyebrows knit together. The sunny blond walked over to him and sat on the arm of the couch.

"Come on Vanya, I already said I was sorry. And you know, you did kinda deserv-"

"Do not dare say that I deserved it."

America's mouth snapped shut, swallowing the remainder of the sentence. He placed his peace offering in front of the Russian, hoping he would take it. When nothing happened, he used his pinkie to push it a little closer. Russia dug his fingers in his arms, still refusing to look at him.

"…I can be your slave for the rest of the evening."

Finally, violet spheres met sapphire ones, the tall nation unable to hide his amusement.

"I thought slavery was forbidden in your country?" the Russian purred.

"Yeah, well. I'm the hero, so if it's for my boyfriend, I'm willing to make a sacrifice!"

"And do heroes always break their boyfriend's legs?"

America deflated again.

"I'm reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy sorry okay? Please, you gotta believe me on this one! It won't happen again, never ever ever!"

Russia couldn't help but chuckle.

"Carry me."

"Huh?"

America looked up to see an adorable display. Russia was holding his arms out, resembling a child that was asking for its parent to be picked up. Now how could the young nation refuse?

"Sure big guy."

After putting away the ice cream (he sure as hell wasn't going to let perfectly good ice cream melt and go to waste), he scooped the Russian up in his arms, carrying him bridal style. Russia might not have been the lightest country, but to America, the weight was only a minor inconvenience. Russia had his arms folded over his chest, smile of pure bliss gracing his features, violet orbs looking more than content. America wanted to squeal and take a picture of that face, but he had a task to fulfil.

The American carried his Russian lover up the stairs, careful not to bump his leg against the walls. Russia was humming a song that vaguely resembled the Tetris theme (1). America carefully laid down the tall nation on his bed, helping him change into his pyjamas and tucking him in.

"Want me to sing a lullaby?" he asked sarcastically, although it sounded more loving than anything.

"I would like that dorogoy," was Russia's surprisingly cute reply.

The young nation was at a loss for words. He awkwardly scratched his head.

"Yeah, I don't really know any good lullabies…"

"Does not matter."

"I'm also not that good of a singer."

"Does not matter," came Russia's hushed voice. He was looking at the other expectantly, nose peaking over his scarf.

America swallowed.

"I'm a little teapot, short and stouts. Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up I just shout: tip me over and pour me out."

The room was silent for an entire minute. Then, Russia burst into laughter. Not his usual high-pitched giggling, but a deep, baritone howling.

America went beet red.

"Fucking- What was all that crap about 'does not matter'?!"

Russia wiped the tears from his eyes. "Prosti little one, but you should have seen the look on your face!"

America puffed his cheeks and turned around so as to dramatically storm out of the room. He was stopped however by a hand capturing his wrist.

"Thank you, Alfred. Even though you were the one that broke my leg, it makes me very happy that you would go to these lengths to try and fix it."

America was going to make a very good comeback here, but when he looked at the other's face, it read pure innocence once again. His anger melted instantly. He simply bent over and placed a goodnight kiss on that oversized nose of his.

"Good night, idiot."

"Spokojnoj noči, dorogoy moy."

As soon as America shut the door behind him, he yelled out in frustration. Being with Russia was both amazingly wonderful and downright difficult. The Russian didn't let a moment go to waste to tease him, but since he always knew where to draw the line, America simply couldn't get mad at him.

He groaned and rubbed his temples, realizing that he would have to get back in there to go to sleep. What would he find there? Would Russia start teasing him again, would he be passionate, cute, gentle, already fast asleep, or faking being asleep to jump him when he least expected it? Russia was just really unpredictable. Which made for an interesting relationship, but also a very tiresome one. America always had to be on guard. If he wasn't, he risked dying from cuteness overload, having an anger fit after being pranked mercilessly, have his heart almost explode from too many emotions overflowing, or simply have his hormones run wild again.

Maybe the exercise was a good thing. Since nations were immortal he couldn't die from stress or heart attacks any way. Let's hope being with Russia wasn't going to prove that theory wrong.

After brushing his teeth and turning off all the lights downstairs, he braced himself and re-entered his bedroom.

Russia was staring up at him, graceful smile playing around his lips, eyes half-lidded. He patted the mattress next to him, making room for the younger nation to join him.

America quietly changed his clothes before crawling under the covers. As soon as he turned off the light switch, Russia inched closer to him. He pulled the younger nation to his chest, arm splayed affectionately over his waist, legs fitting perfectly into the back of the other's. It felt a little weird with the cast, but they ignored it. Russia pressed a kiss to America's head before nuzzling in the crook of his neck. He murmured a few words in Russian, sighed happily, and almost instantly fell asleep.

America smiled, grabbing the arm that lay over his waist and pulling it up to his heart. It was at moments like this that he knew he had made the right choice in following his gut instead of his head.

Yes, Russia could be a naive idiot, a psychopath, a fucking troll and a very inconsistent lover.

But he was his, and America loved him for all those little things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Tetris is a game developed by the Soviet Union. The theme, Korobeiniki, is a Russian folksong.
> 
> Words:  
> Solnyshka: Sunshine


	47. S Novim godom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovers spend the holidays together, counting down to the new year.

Russia stared at the bottle of champagne in his hands, wondering if it was good enough.

He hoped the states were allowed to drink, and that there was enough food and liquor for everyone. Well, knowing America, there would probably be enough to feed the entire continent of Asia with leftovers on the side.

Russia was dressed in an impeccable suit, scarf hanging to the side in a fashionable way and little snowflakes in his combed hair. It had been an idea of Poland. Now he only hoped it hadn't been some kind of trick to make him look ridiculous.

The Russian had gone to Poland and Hungary because he wanted to look good for this special occasion. Since they had both lived in his house at one point, he figured they would be happy to help. Well, they weren't exactly happy with his arrival, at least not until the moment he told them he only came for fashion advice. In the blink of an eye their entire demeanour changed, pushing Russia into a chair and taking measurements. If he had known they would get this excited with his being around when he mentioned clothes, he would have done so a lot earlier.

The reason why Russia wanted to look good, was because he was invited to America's yearly Thanksgiving dinner. Under normal circumstances, it would have been just the American and his fifty children. When the violet-eyed nation asked him why on earth he was invited as well, America simply shrugged it off with a "You're part of the family now, wouldn't want you to miss it." It had made Russia's heart swell with glee, warmth spreading through his veins. He liked the sound of that a lot.

The dinner was being held in Alaska this year. Russia had overheard his lover complain about the cold weather, but since each year another state hosted the dinner, all he could do was comply. And it wasn't like they would have to spend a lot of time outside, so all was well.

The tall nation straightened his jacket and rang the doorbell. His heart was thumping nervously against his ribs, like it always did when he had to meet strangers. Well, of course he was already acquainted with Alaska and Illinois, but there were going to be 48 others on top of that.

The boy he last encountered over half a year ago opened the door. His special eyes shot over the visitor, taking in his appearance. A small smile played around his lips.

"Welcome, uncle Russia. Don't forget to wipe your feet when you come in."

The boy stepped aside to make room for the tall nation.

"Why am I uncle Russia?" he asked, taking off his coat.

Alaska shrugged. "Well, it would be kind of weird to call you dad. I don't know about you, but I have grown out of that habit ever since I was adopted by my new father."

Russia giggled. "You are right, little one. I must say you have grown up to be a strange young man."

Icy eyes clashed, nation and state sizing each other up.

Alaska smiled. "You're just as weird as I remember you to be, stah-reek."

"And you are just as straightforward, koshka."

They were interrupted by a voice calling out from the kitchen.

"Nikkie, who are you talking to?"

Both guys turned towards the voice, one stoic and the other smiling childishly. You can guess who is who.

As soon as America's head popped up from around the corner, his mouth spread into a wide grin.

"Hey, big guy! You're one of the first to arrive!"

He walked over and gripped the other in a bear-like hug, forgetting about his inhuman strength for the moment. Luckily, Russia could pack quite a punch, so he didn't even twitch when he felt his bones grind together.

Once America pulled loose, he gave the nation a quick once-over.

"My, my! Looking handsome today!"

Russia blushed shyly and quickly held out the bottle of champagne.

"A gift for the host."

America took the bottle and nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, Vanya! Come on in, don't just stand here in the hallway!"

Alaska followed after them, trying not to trip over the abundant decorations on the floor.

"Seriously dad, you didn't have to make a Christmas card out of my house."

"But Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee, it's the holiday season! You have to get into the spirit of things!"

Alaska shot him a cynical glance before walking over to the cd player and picking out some music to listen to.

Russia was introduced to the rest of the guests that had already arrived.

Hawaii was a lively young girl, greeting the Russian with a kiss on each cheek and telling him how happy she was her father had found someone special to be with.

Illinois was there as well, slapping him hard on the back and never keeping his mouth shut.

When the tall nation came face to face with Florida, he burst out into a hysterical giggle fit. Florida kept asking him what was wrong, while America's face was coloured a dark and shameful red.

Not soon after, the rest of the guests arrived. But instead of Russia getting uncomfortable with all the new faces and trying to blend in with the shadows, hiding his emotions behind a creepy little smile, they all greeted him with the same fervour and hospitality.

It was practically impossible to have some alone time in this house. He either had to listen to someone's story, answer questions about himself, taste something new that was practically shoved into his mouth, or hide a blush when they congratulated him on capturing their stubborn parent. After all, they couldn't exactly _not_ like the tall nation, since they were technically a part of America.

"All right everybody, dinner's up!"

The states cheered as the pièce de resistance was placed on the table: a ginormous turkey accompanied by many many many side-dishes.

"Jack, put that down!" America scolded New York, as the boy tried to steal some mashed potatoes.

"First we have to say grace!"

They all closed their eyes, waiting for their father to begin his annual speech. After getting a nudge from North Carolina, Russia followed their lead.

"Thank you for bringing us all together once again this year. Thank you for the food, and please bless us all."

He took in a deep gulp of air and then began summing up all of his children. Russia was surprised he could say it all in one breath, naming the states in alphabetical order without forgetting anyone. He probably had practised a lot to be able to accomplish this feat.

"And bless Ivan too," he ended his speech, after which he wheezed, swiftly sucking in fresh oxygen.

"Eat up everybody!"

Is was the most chaotic, but also the most intimate and cosy dinner the Russian had ever been a part of.

Back when he was still the Soviet Union, he too often had dinner with all of its members. But those dinners were always quiet and cold, the nations not daring to have conversation or even look each other in the eye. This was the complete opposite.

Russia was very happy to be able to experience it. He sent the American a thankful look, both countries locking eyes for a few moments.

Until they were interrupted by Ohio.

"Dad and mister Russia, sitting in a tree! K.I.S.S.I.N.G.!"

After that statement a little food battle broke out between those who were laughing as well and those who didn't want their father to be made fun off. Of course they weren't laughing _at_ the two; the states were more than glad their father was no longer single. But a little teasing never hurt.

Russia simply finished his meal, ducking when a bowl of salad went flying over his head and pulling Alaska out of reach from a spazzing Nevada.

The boy smiled cheerfully at him, and Russia recognized himself in that face, his heart warming up once again.

It certainly was a night to remember.

* * *

The next time the lovers saw each other was at America's Christmas party.

They spent it with France, England, Canada and Prussia. Prussia, mainly because Northern Italy and Germany were having a little Christmas party of their own at his brother's house, and it made the albino miss his boyfriend.

Russia's sisters weren't there because his Christmas wasn't until the 7th of January. That day they would all be going to Moscow, all meaning Russia, America, Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania. Lithuania mostly to make sure Belarus didn't hurt anyone, but also because he and Russia had grown to become something along the line of friends. The rest of the Baltic trio wasn't going to come, Latvia still being scared shitless of the Russian and Estonia having some issues with him as well.

But that was fine.

The tall nation already had gained more friends now then he would have ever hoped for.

Russia and England still didn't like each other all that much, but they had come to at least tolerate the other's presence.

France acted friendly towards the violet-eyed nation, dreading his temper but finding him quite a good discussion partner when he wasn't being all creepy. They had been on more friendly terms with each other at one point, after all (1).

Prussia was more open, but he often said things that earned him an encounter with the Magic Death Stick of Pain. And Canada had come to like the Russian just as much as his brother did, although he would really love it if the other wouldn't sit on him all the time.

Back to the present, as all of the nations had taken place in the living room, now leering at the presents beneath the tree. England and Prussia were still a bit hung-over from last night, but the American brothers were excited like little kids.

"Youngest give their presents first!" America shouted, before grabbing his gifts and handing them to the others.

He got some new china for England, since he had accidently broken all of it the last time he visited. But hey, he hadn't really expected seeing two naked nations rutting against each other like horny dogs in the middle of the day! In his haste to cover his eyes and scream (in a manly way of course), he had stumbled against the cabinet holding all of the Brit's china. Long story short, he had never seen the English nation so angry, and had therefore promised to replace it.

France simply got a bottle of wine and Prussia some beer, nothing to go wrong with there.

For his brother he revealed a card with “how to have safe sex”, which was promptly thrown against his head. He then gave him the real gift, a DVD about the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, where the Canadian athletes had won 26 medals.

Finally, he turned to his lover. He pulled out a small box and pushed it into the other's waiting hands. Russia gently unwrapped the box, curious to what it could possibly contain. At last, he unveiled a little embroidered sunflower, ready to be sown upon his scarf. Russia almost tackled the American to the ground, giving him a passionate thank you-kiss, ignoring the perverted laughter of both Prussia and France, and the tsk-ing of England.

"I have something for you too," Russia beamed, handing the American his own present.

It was a set of headphones, completely in cheeseburger design. America squealed as he pressed the set to his chest, finding the gift more than entertaining.

England and France gave each other sex toys (disguised as something else, but nobody was fooled) and surprisingly cute handmade-pullovers. Canada and Prussia exchanged gifts, England gave America a book about espionage (still not fully trusting the Russian), France gave them a vibrator (also in disguise) and wished them good sex- uh, luck in their relationship, and Russia got a trout from Kumajiro and a bottle of vodka with a ribbon from Canada.

And life was bliss.

* * *

The two nations were slowly waltzing around on the balcony, both terribly exhausted and more than a little drunk.

It was the final New Year's party of the year, the old year. After celebrating Russia's birthday, the two nations had spent hours upon hours travelling around the world, going from party to party and saying "Happy New Year" every single time again.

They were tired but satisfied.

As both nations looked each other in the eye, a lazy and content grin around their lips, they couldn't help but feel oh so very thankful of all that had happened the past year. They were in love, they had fun, they could talk for hours without getting bored of the other's voice. Yes, they had a couple of disputes as well, but those went by very quickly. They had no idea how much time it would take for this happiness to fade, but if it were up to them, it would keep going on for all eternity.

Russia sighed as he nuzzled in America's hair. He would have never dreamt that trying to befriend the young nation would lead him here. The hole in his heart was gone, empty spaces filled with thoughts of the one he loved. And he had friends now, and family. He could visit the warmer states of America whenever he wanted, fleeing from General Winter or just taking a sunny vacation.

But the most important of all: America had stayed with him. Whatever happened.

He had stayed with him when Belarus almost tried to kill them, he had stayed when the tall nation got another one of his nightmares and nearly destroyed their bedroom in dazed hysteria, he had stayed after learning about his dark past. The American had proved that he wasn't going to leave, and also that he wasn't just in it for the sex.

And because he had stayed, held Russia's hand, always did whatever he could to make the other smile again...

The ashen blond's heart had finally calmed down. He was completely at ease. For he now knew that he was able to love, and that he was loved in return.

Together they had finally achieved happiness.

Yes, Russia had gotten more than he bargained for, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"Countdown everybody!"

America tilted his head back to gaze at his Russian lover. He too was overjoyed. He had found his happy ending. Or happy life, like his lover would say.

"Three, two, one!"

Everyone cheered, pulling each other close for kisses, fireworks lighting the air.

The dazzling burst of green, red and white was reflected in both their eyes.

"Happy New Year, babe."

"S Novim godom, dorogoy moy."

And with that they kissed, two solitary figures under the night sky, not letting go for a very long time.

* * *

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now then, this is officially the end to The Promise of Sunflowers. I really enjoyed writing it, and if I can believe the reviews, you guys liked reading it just as much. I hope you all found what you were looking for in this story, and I'll see you in another one. Also, don't forget to check out the sequel!  
> Do svidanya. :)
> 
> 1) Same explanation as in chapter 32.
> 
> Words:  
> Stah-reek: Old man  
> Koshka: Cat


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